The Director
by JustSaraNoH
Summary: A series of missing scenes for the second season of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Phil has to deal with rebuilding his beloved agency and leaving behind the love of his life. (Sequel to The Cellist)
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES: **Anna Ellis was created before Audrey Nathan was made public knowledge; therefore, this series is a wee bit AU.

Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for the beta and for wanting to hear more from this story.

* * *

Phil sighs happily as he beholds the sight before him: an empty trio of plane seats. With all his global trekking, he'd learned to be one of the last passengers on the plane. He always has Koenig book him aisle seats near an exit door; a parachute lines his suit jacket in case something goes to hell. Boarding just before the gate closes lets Phil take a good look at everyone else on the plane on the off chance (or what feels like an incredibly likely chance lately) that there is an unfriendly face on the passenger manifest.

The flights and constant recruitment are exhausting. Phil used to be good at bringing in potential agents with lures of making good on their name and fighting the good fight, but that stump speech is no longer an option. Part of him even fears speaking the word S.H.I.E.L.D. in public; who knows who could be listening and make him a target.

But flying coach is worse than all of the crap he's endured lately. He spends the duration of most flights cursing Grant Ward's name. It's because of that traitor that his team was put in danger, Fitz's mind was compromised, and why Phil no longer has a plane of his own. He really misses his plane (also Fitz being healthy and team being solid).

There are other things he misses, too. One person in particular, but Anna is safer and happier without him around and as much as he hates it and misses her, things can't change. Not anytime soon, at least.

He pushes those thoughts out of his mind as he decides how to best settle himself on the row of three empty seats. But of course, his dream can't last long—a muttered apology behind him causes Phil to turn around. A harried man ten years his senior shuffles up the aisle, a hard plastic case in his arms. He smiles apologetically at Phil's fallen face. "Connecting flight ran late," the man explains. "Made it just in the nick of time."

"Congratulations," Phil replies with a fake smile. He sweeps his arm towards the seats as he steps out of the way. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," the man replies. He takes the window seat and then carefully straps the plastic case into the middle seat. Phil pretends to check his e-mail on his phone, but really pulls up a threat detector app Skye built. Whatever is inside doesn't appear to be threatening. "My bassoon," the stranger says, apparently able to read Phil's thoughts.

"I'm sorry?" Phil asks as he straps himself into his seat.

"I'm a professional musician. Sticking Bessie here in the cargo compartment is hell on a woodwind. Just slightly more of a hell than having to buy two plane tickets everywhere."

"Bessie the Bassoon?"

The man shrugs. "My daughter named her. She was seven at the time."

Phil smiles and returns his attention to his phone for one last check of incoming messages before he has to shut it down for the flight back to New York from London. His goal is to try and sleep a little on the plane, but the musician next to him apparently feels chatty.

"You have any kids?"

"Three," Phil answers, the lie slipping from his mouth before his brain really processes it. God, he needs to sleep.

The stranger smiles wistfully. "My wife and I wanted more, but it just didn't work out." He pauses to stretch out his hand. "Doug, by the way."

"Peter," Phil replies. He doesn't think the man is threat to anything but his sleep cycle, but better safe than sorry.

"You married?" Doug asks.

Phil shakes his head. "Recently divorced."

"Sorry."

"It happens," Phil says with a shrug. "She's a musician, too, and I work all the time at a job that demands a lot of travel and attention."

Doug nods sympathetically. "A lot of my friends stayed together until their kids were grown."

"Yeah," Phil breathes. He wants to end the discussion, but his exhaustion is apparently giving his tongue a mind of its own. "My older daughter doesn't speak to me anymore. Our son is just confused about everything. The younger daughter has been living with me while she gets settled into her first big job, but it's different. I'm pushing her away. Not that I want to, it's just—"

"Self-punishment," Doug finishes for him. "My wife and I split five years ago for pretty similar reasons. It was hard being around my daughter for the first year after that. Felt like I'd let her down. And then you look at her face, and all these memories come back to you—birthdays, Christmas, whatever—and even though you know ending things was the right thing to do, it just makes everything hurt again."

Phil never spent a Christmas with Anna. She hates celebrating her birthday, but made sure to help Pepper make a big deal of his a couple months ago.

Had it really only been seven weeks? Because it feels like ages. The days have been long and challenging, as to be expected when trying to rebuild an organization that is barely holding on, but the constant ache in his chest doesn't make things any easier, either. He's come to close to calling her while lying in the dark of a hotel room, his thumb hovering over the glowing send icon. But what would he say? He has to devote his life to S.H.I.E.L.D. right now, and probably for the rest of his days. She deserves better than that, so as much as it guts him to do so, he has to leave her be. He's already barged his way back into her life once. She'd thought then that he was dead, and from now on he just needs to be completely gone to her. Let her live her life without the fear of Grant Ward attacking her, the worry that she might have to bury Phil again, or the heartache of hearing that one of their "kids," as she called them, was injured on a mission.

His life, like flying coach, blows. But this is the only option he has now.


	2. Chapter 2

"Overdue," Phil mutters. "And I'm tired of fighting it."

"So don't," May responds.

He sighs, weighing his options. He feels the need to give in to whatever this alien thing consuming his mind is. He remembers Anna being restless in bed, swearing under her breath, and getting up to get some melody out of her system at three in the morning before she could finally give in to sleep. It was either adorable or annoying depending on how sleep deprived Phil was.

But he thinks this is different. Anna could at least understand the outcome; she knew how the notes related to each other. Phil is constantly fighting the feeling of his blood about to boil over, all so he can carve symbols that make absolutely no sense into a wall.

Phil listens as May closes blinds and seals off his office. She's the only person in the world he feels comfortable doing this in front of. She doesn't see this as an exercise in Phil being the definition of vulnerable; instead, she's told him repeatedly it's her way of helping him out.

Her words from earlier in the week, about how he shouldn't have to carry everything on his shoulders, ring in his ears as he loosens his tie. Phil wants to believe that so badly, but every second of his life has been a battle for control, and he's barely hanging on anymore. He feels like he's flailing and letting everyone down. Add on top of that the lines and circles flitting around his brain and taunting him around the clock...

He leans over to remove his shoes and socks. It's a cycle that's been going on for a while now. Fifteen days seems to be about the tipping the point. He can fight it for a few days longer, like this time around, if he has to, but he's never made it further than twenty.

Phil pulls the knife from his drawer, unfurls the tarp on the ground to help ease the clean up and stares at the blank wall in front of him. May switches out the surface after every episode. He doesn't know how or when she fixes it, or what she does with the old carvings. Maybe she hides them away for research, gives them to Skye saying she found another carving from Garrett. Phil doesn't ask, doesn't care too much. He just sighs gratefully at the sight of the blank canvas.

Giving up control is something he's never been good at, not since he watched his father bleed out in front of him when he was a child. It'd caused a lot of issues in his younger years, but then Nick had found him and taught him how to turn his compulsions into something beneficial. All those lessons seem to have dissolved over the last few months because control is the last thing Phil feels right now.

He takes a breath and steps up to the wall. As soon as the blade comes in contact with the surface, the shapes and lines flow out of him. Most of the time, Phil doesn't know how long it takes for him to finish marking up the wall. He's left to drown in a tidal wave he can't understand until whatever it is decides that's enough for now and leaves him be. He's vaguely aware of the shutter of May's camera and her voice dictating notes as he goes along. Most of the time, it just becomes part of the white noise that surrounds him.

When he's finally finished, the alien part of his brain giving him release, he steps back with a sigh. There's always a few beats between his last knife stroke and May asking if he's done. He nods and swallows, panting as he tries to feel like he's in control of his own mind once more.

May presses a glass of water into his hand, and he drinks greedily from it. "How long?" he rasps.

"Just under five hours."

"You should sleep," he tells her.

"You should take your own advice," she snipes back as she begins to fold up the tarp.

Phil shakes his head and kneels down beside her. "You don't have to do that."

"It's fine."

"No, I—"

"Phil," she snaps. "Let me help you."

He slumps back onto his heels and nods once. It's humiliating, every single bit of it. He'd rather be ninety, senile, and living in some nursing home than be in this situation. She shouldn't have to witness him go through this, shouldn't have to set up a new wall from him to desecrate with something no one understands, and she certainly shouldn't have to clean up his mess.

"How is everyone?" he asks when he feels like he can talk again.

She shrugs. "Mack is helping Fitz out, which is good. Skye's worried about you. They all are." He opens his mouth to protest, but she raises an eyebrow at him. It's enough to keep his objections quiet. "What's next?" May asks.

"Scare Talbot. Keep him off our backs for just a bit."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

He looks up at her and gives her a tiny grin. "Still remember how to fly the Bus?"


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTES: **Thanks to **the_wordbutler** for not only cleaning up my words but also for proclaiming each new chapter of this series her favorite.

* * *

"And what about you, sir?" Jemma asks while scrubbing plates. "How have you been at making new friends? Or perhaps mending fences with old ones?"

Phil gives her an unimpressed look and shakes his head. "You're as subtle as Doctor Banner in a bad mood."

Jemma pulls an expression of mock hurt while placing a plate in the drying rack. She'd insisted on doing dishes since he cooked. "I was just wondering if, you know—"

"I haven't talked to Anna," Phil interrupts to cut to the chase.

"Oh, that I did know. I was just wondering if you had any intention of ever doing it."

Phil feels his eyebrows draw together. "What do you mean you already know that?"

Jemma shrugs. "I don't really know anyone else in the city, and we ran into each other a few weeks ago in Central Park. We've had lunch a couple of times."

"Did you tell her your cover story?" Phil questions, ignoring how his stomach tightens a little at the thought of bringing Anna back into this life of secrets and lies.

"A modified version, yes. I told her I'd transferred to a lab, nothing more."

Phil nods, satisfied with that story. "Is she, you know…"

"Is she what, sir?" Jemma returns with a hint of a smirk.

"Alright?"

"For the most part, I think," she answers as she puts the last of the dishes in the drying rack. She towels down the counter as she continues. "She's had trouble finding a job with an orchestra—doubt about her hand being completely healed and her being fired from her last position isn't helping her."

Phil hangs his head in guilt over that, even if he wasn't the one who broke her fingers one by one. "Is she still working for Stark?"

Jemma looks at him with surprise. "You honestly haven't been keeping up with her?"

"No. She said she needed space from all of this, so I've been trying to give it to her."

Jemma nods, and when she answers, she's using her quiet and comforting tone. "She still works for Stark Industries when they need her, but no longer lives in the Tower. She said she felt like she was 'bumming off your friends.'"

"Where is she now?"

"Bed-Stuy. Said it was still a connection involving you, but at least there she could afford the rent on her salary from consulting for Miss Potts and teaching at the conservatory." She chuckles for a second. "Says that Felix is too much of a snob to find the living situation decent, but deals with it since there are children to give him attention."

Phil hadn't thought about the possibility of Clint taking Anna in, but he's alright with it. He's heard reports of some Eastern European gangsters trying to cause trouble in that area of Brooklyn, but it sounded like Clint and his brother have things under control.

And it's safer than being with him.

"We're having lunch on Saturday," Jemma says. "Should I tell her you say hello?"

There are so many things Phil wants to tell Anna, but he's afraid to pass on a simple greeting. "No, but thank you."

He ignores how Jemma's face falls at that and does his best to ignore the thought of Anna completely until he's on the Bus and flying home from Morocco. He has Skye send the video recording from Ward's detention cell to his office and watches Fitz confront the traitor.

Phil's heart breaks for a number of reasons. The first is that he's been leaving Fitz out to dry. He personally doesn't know how to be around and talk to the young scientist, and so he pushes him—and most of the team—away. He needs to change that.

And while he's grateful that Fitz was able to get useful information out of Ward and didn't cause their prisoner permanent brain damage, it's still unsettling to see the man who was once so jovial turn down oxygen levels on another human. Phil isn't sure if he should lock Fitz out of the security system where Ward is concerned, or if the young man now has his frustration out of his system and won't pull a stunt like that again.

But thinking about that brings Phil to his most terrifying thought of all: of how, if roles were reversed, he would've let Ward suffocate and not felt a single ounce of guilt. Because whenever he sees that traitor's face, his mind imagines what it was like for Anna to try and fend off her attacker. Unbidden thoughts fill Phil's brain of what it looked like when Ward took her by surprise, knocked her unconscious, kidnapped her, and delivered her to Garrett to be used as bait.

He'll never forget what it felt like to receive news that the woman he loved was being held as Garrett's prisoner. That his old friend intended to break bones in her hand for every hour that Phil refused to give up critical information. What little sleep Phil gets anymore is haunted with those thoughts, and it drives Phil almost as mad as the alien language that has to erupt out of him every two weeks.

He sits in his office and watches the clouds go by. There are so many things he'd rather do: call Anna, get rid of Ward once and for all, snap his fingers and have the world healed back over, but none of that is going to happen. Especially not the first. He can feel whatever is in him causing his mental faculties to decay, and he's not going to bring Anna back into his life just so she can watch him lose his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES: **Warning for discussion of arranged suicide.

* * *

It's been two days since he rejected May's offer for the Australian outback retirement when she knocks on his office door. "Clear your desk," she orders when she walks in.

He looks at her confused. "I had an episode four days ago, I'm not due—"

"You have a guest," she interrupts.

Phil looks over her shoulder. Even though the window in his office door is opaque, he can immediately identify the silhouette on the other side, and it earns May a glare. "Why is she here?"

"She demanded I bring her, and since she has incredibly valid reasons to be pissed at you, I flew her in."

"Get out," he sighs.

May shrugs her slim shoulders, probably more than happy to earn another point for her side of the disagreement they've been having. As she leaves, Anna slips hesitantly through the door, and Phil's breath catches at the sight of her. She's joined into the hair-cutting movement most of the women around him have started, her loose brown curls now stopping at her shoulders. She looks a little thinner than the last time he saw her, and that gives him some concern, but the part that makes his guts twist is how her eyes are already wet. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

"May called your redhead to give her a heads-up that you might reach out to her for…" Anna pauses to grind her jaw and take a deep breath. "To do what May refused to do. Clint was warned you might call him, too."

"It's not what you probably think it sounds like," he tries to argue.

"It sounds like you're begging your friends to kill you," she fires back. "Do you know how much of a mess Clint is right now? You know he still carries a metric ton worth of guilt around for you dying in the first place. Are you seriously going to ask him to be the reason you die a second time?"

Exhaustion hits Phil like a freight train as he decides how best to phrase his response. "It's not what you think it is."

"I think you told me you were suicidal before, and now—"

"I don't want to die," he nearly shouts. He takes a deep breath and swallows, trying to reign in his feelings. "But I don't want to end up like Garrett."

Anna looks at him skeptically. "You think you're going to defect to HYDRA and start bashing hands of your friends' girlfriends?"

"I think I'm going to go insane," he admits quietly. "When I killed Garrett, he was a nutcase. And it's only a matter of time before I become that, too."

"You don't know that," Anna argues softly. "Maybe it's like your beloved Captain America serum—bad people get worse, but good—"

"It's not like that," he counters with a shake of his head. "My… 'art projects' are becoming more of a habit. If I don't have an episode, I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. My hand wouldn't stop shaking the other day. I'm losing control." Anna hangs her head, and Phil is torn. He can try and comfort her, or— "I knew this was going to happen. This was why I was going to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., because I saw agent after agent lose their mind because of this and I was done. I mean, sure, wanting you to stick around was part of it, but I resigned—"

"Stop it," Anna whispers without looking up.

"Thank goodness it was just a pregnancy scare and not an actual baby, right? You'd be, what, seven months along now?"

"Stop it," she hisses as her head snaps up. Tears have started to run down her cheeks, and Phil hates himself a little. "You have every right to be angry at me, but you do not get to say whatever vile things pop into your head in order to scare me off. You don't get to do that to me."

They stare at each other for a minute or two before Phil sighs and sinks into the nearest chair. Anna rocks on her toes for a second like she might walk over to him, but remains rooted in her spot. "How's your hand?" he asks.

She stretches her right arm out before her and flexes her fingers. "As good as it's going to get. If it weren't my bow hand I'd be screwed, but I think I can get away with stiff fingers for now."

"Jemma said—"

"I knew it," she mutters with a shake of her head.

"Knew what?"

"You've got her working undercover."

"I didn't say—"

"She's working in a lab," Anna cuts in. "The only lab that would keep her interested would be one that has plenty of funding and therefore isn't government-related. I doubt S.H.I.E.L.D. has a lab out in the open, so you've got her undercover. You've got an exit strategy for her, right?"

"Of course," Phil answers.

"And what's the exit strategy for you and all of this? Because asking your friends to put two in your head isn't going to work."

He scrubs his hands over his face. The one he wants to happen apparently never will, unless he shoots himself, and he can't bring himself to do that. Not yet anyway. "May wants to ship the two of us off to the outback. Have me lose my mind. She's got fake passports and money."

"Tell her to get a third passport," Anna instructs him. "I mean, Felix will probably be eaten by a dingo, but whatever."

Phil shakes his head. "I'm not going to let you watch me go mad."

She looks at his fingers before speaking. "Did you know you had an open-casket funeral?" His chest squeezes at the question, but he doesn't answer. "I stood there for, I don't even know how long, just holding your hands. Hoping that maybe if I stood there long enough they'd stop being so cold, but it didn't work." Slowly, she inches toward him and kneels beside his chair. "We know exactly what it's like to not have you in our lives. And no one is going to voluntarily go back to that. You mean too much to us."

They sit there quietly for a moment before Phil opens his hand to her. She clutches it in both of hers for dear life.


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES: **Sorry I missed an update last week. Things were crazy and the scenes that were jumping out to me weren't involving Phil. It was very much a Fitz/Mack episode for me, and everything else just kind of fell into the shadows.

* * *

Phil sits in his office chair with a sigh. On his screen, there are several feeds covering Ward's escape from his prison transport. Two men died in the wake of his escape. Phil tries to reason their deaths away as sacrifices for a greater good, but that kind of thing has never set well with him.

He knew from the instant he let Ward have his hands cuffed in front of him that this was a possibility. Phil was counting on it. Long games are tricky and tedious, but it's necessary at the moment. When you only have a few pieces remaining on the chessboard, you can't play fast and loose.

He picks up the receiver and dials a phone number that, even with alien art consuming his mind, he can't forget. Anna answers on the first ring. "Hey," he greets. "You alright?"

"I'm watching the news. What do you think?"

He hears the tightness in her voice, and he hates that he can't protect her better. "It's very unlikely that he'll come after you."

"You said that the last time, Phil," she counters, and he can't argue with her.

"Where's Clint?"

"Out," she answers tersely. "He said he was going to be gone for a couple weeks, and he only left a few days ago."

"I'm going to call Natasha," he tells her. "She's going to pick you up and take you back to Stark. I know you may—"

"It's fine," she interrupts.

His guts folds further in on itself. He hates himself for putting her in a position of fear. It's the last thing she deserves.

"What about Jemma?" she asks, and he can hear in her tone how she's trying to sound brave; it makes his heart swell.

"She's back home with me."

He hears Anna sigh in relief. "So you got all the kids in the divorce except the crazy, evil one?"

"Sorry," he apologizes with a small smile.

"You sound like you knew this was going to happen, that he'd escape."

He rolls his lips and debates about how much to say. "I had an inkling."

"You know what you're doing with this, right?" she asks cautiously.

He wants to say yes, and do so confidently. But he can't fully trust his own mind at the moment, which doesn't bode well for someone with the title of Director. "Yeah," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. And apparently he's trying a little too hard, because he can hear her snort. "Thanks," he comments.

The line falls quiet for a minute before Anna speaks again. "Sorry I couldn't stay longer, I just… I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

When May'd flown her to the base two weeks ago, she'd only stayed for about three hours. Neither of them trusted themselves to talk much. He knew he was afraid of once again making promises he couldn't quite keep. She'd kissed his cheek goodbye, and they hadn't talked since. It was the right thing to do, but it hurt like hell.

"Phil, are you okay?" she asks.

He's not. He can't stop carving, he almost lost Jemma, Ward had the nerve to still think himself as a team member, Skye's a mess over her dad and everything with Ward, he lost six agents in the safe house. "I'm fine."

She huffs another laugh. "And still a terrible liar." He hears Felix mewl over the line, and Anna shushes him and probably shoves him off her couch. "I'm sure you have a million other things—"

"I'm good," he reassures her. Of course he has an endless list of other things to do, but he can't bring himself to hang up.

"I probably shouldn't be watching this shit, should I?" she asks.

He shrugs, even if she can't see him. "Is it helping?"

"Not really."

"Then turn it off," he instructs. The background noise is silenced on the other side of the line.

"When is your redhead coming?" Anna finally asks.

He punches a few keys on his keyboard and waits three seconds for an acknowledgement. "She'll be there in twenty. Don't open the door for anyone else."

"Okay," she says shakily. "Do I need to pack clothes? How long will I be gone?"

"Nat's going to cover you until Ward is taken care of. She'll take care of anything you might need." He cringes, remembering how upending Anna's life has messed with her career. "If you need me to, I can, I don't know, call your boss—"

"Are you asking permission to write a doctor's note for me?" she asks with mocking disbelief.

"I don't know," he grumbles. Her small bout of laughing is the most beautiful sound he's heard in ages. "I'm sorry I screwed over your career."

She immediately goes quiet, so much so that he's worried that he's been disconnected until she whispers, "Thank you."

He traces a pinstripe in his slacks before posing his next question. "Skye says you've been invited to a few auditions. Why haven't you gone?"

"Denial," she answers easily but softly. "If I up and leave to go somewhere, it will mean we're really done. And part of me—a big part of me—isn't ready for that just yet. So I'll teach and do gigs until… whatever." He wants to push the conversation further, but she gets too jumpy and keeps talking. "You have to be busy," she starts and he can hear her overly polite tone of voice creep in. "Thanks for sending Natasha. I'm sure she'll let you know when I'm back safe—"

"I can stay on the line," he offers.

"It's okay," she says. "I don't want you to be distracted."

"Sure," he says. "I'll talk to you when I can."

"Phil—" she says quickly before he can hang up. "May didn't really let me talk to anyone when I came to visit. How bad are things?"

He fights to contain a sigh and tries to be a little more convincingly blasé about life. "We're okay. We're getting better."

"Okay," Anna says, her uncertainty plainly evident.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil steels himself behind his desk as May enters his office. He knows there's a tongue-lashing coming for all that he's done while she's been gone on the hunt for Ward. Very rarely will she use more than five words to dress someone down, but if she does, you're going to be reduced to a pile of nothingness. Phil's seen it happen before. And he's been dreading her wrath being aimed at him.

She stands there, arms crossed, and stares him down for a minute before shaking her head. "I'm going to let someone else do this."

"Someone else?" he asks, but she doesn't bother to answer.

Someday, the people he works with will actually treat him like he's in charge. But today is still not that today.

May leaves the door open for Anna to walk through. And, yeah, that's worse. "May told me everything," she announces.

Yeah. So much worse.

"You know May," he says as nonchalantly as possible while standing and rounding his desk. "Her dryness makes things sound worse than they actually are."

"You threw Skye into a cell? And not only anyone's cell, but where you kept Ward?"

Phil cringes, both at the question and how Anna's voice keeps increasing in volume. "To be fair—"

"To be fair, you said you guys were doing fine, getting better," she responds. "But apparently you've been carving non-stop, Jemma and Leo can't be in the same room together, Ward's become super creepy with Skye, and you—" She pauses to shake her head, and he already feels guilty for whatever she says next. "You went back into that fucking machine."

"Anna, I—"

"Do you not remember what a mess you were when you came and found me in Portland? Because I do."

"It was necessary," he tells her calmly.

She snorts and looks at him closely. "Do you know what the worst part about all of this is?" she asks softly. "With those memories back in your head, you look more like you. And I hate that."

He knows she's right; he's seen it in his own reflection. While the madness in his eyes is gone, it's been replaced with a pinched look on his face—a constant worry that lingers due to the knowledge of what was done to those six people. And now himself and Skye.

Phil wants to hug Anna, pull her close and beg apologies for the multiple hells he's made her endure. But if he takes a step closer to her and she backs away, that might hurt him more than anything else he's already gone through. Thankfully, she leans in ever so slightly, and he knows it's okay to hold her. She squeezes him tightly, and he feels the cut on his chest protest. He tries not to cringe, but apparently isn't successful since she pulls away.

"What happened?" she asks.

He opens his mouth to answer but realizes that telling her someone carved on him may not be the best approach. "I was injured," he tells her. "Squeeze to hard and it'll break open. And you know how hard it is for me to keep my white shirts clean."

A small smile graces her face. "That's because you work when you eat, don't pay attention, and dump food all over yourself."

"True," he says with a grin. His hand comes up to brush a thumb against her cheekbone and she leans into the touch. "I know I don't have any right to ask you to stay, but—"

"I brought a suitcase with me," she answers before shrugging. "May said it was okay, and we thought maybe a few of you might want someone not-S.H.I.E.L.D. to talk to."

"Felix?"

"Clint came back early. Not that I think he'll be the one taking care of him, but maybe between the neighbors and the dog, he'll remember to feed him."

He leans in and kisses her forehead, and damn, he's pathetically missed the smell of her shampoo. "I've got to have an 'I'm really not crazy' talk with the team, but rumor has it that Mack's been making chili if you're hungry. I think Skye's going to demand a family dinner once the briefing is over."

"Who's Mack?"

"I think I heard the girls say he's a 'chocolate god'—you'll like him just fine."

Phil escorts Anna and her luggage up to one of the guest quarters, making sure she feels like she has her own space and isn't immediately drowning in all the drama associated with the team. He encourages her idea of a nap and tells her he'll wake her when it's time for dinner.

Convincing the team that he's not insane thankfully doesn't take too long—or they're all acting like they're agreeing with what he says, which is entirely possible. They talk through possible ideas for the city Phil's been carving maps of—hypothesizing feasible locations or a name for the place—without generating any real facts. Skye has an algorithm searching any map the internet can find as well as satellite feeds for a clue to help them. Once that's done, they review what they knew about Ward and what he could be up to. Several chomp at the bit to go back out and hunt for the fugitive, but Phil tells them they all need a night in. "I'll pass on what we know to my FBI and military contacts, make sure they keep it quiet as to appease Senator Ward. But unless something goes down before morning, we're staying quiet until then. If there isn't anything else, I think Mack is providing us dinner."

"This isn't like the time you tried to make chili in Germany, is it?" Hunter grouses.

"You don't have to eat it," Mack fires back. "You can have another night of peanut butter and jelly since you can't cook anything."

Bobbi snorts a laugh of agreement and Skye starts pushing them all towards the mess before half of them "get thrown in the chili pot as ingredients."

Phil moves off to go get Anna when May blocks his path. "You okay with her here?"

He sighs and shrugs. "Selfish part of me is happy, but the rational part makes me wonder what fresh hell I'm going to make her endure this time."

"She's stronger than she makes herself out to be," she offers. Phil wants to argue that he knows exactly how strong Anna is, because he's brought her to several breaking points in the past. "I'll lose the leather for dinner if you lose the suit and tie," May tells him. "I think the kids want to have a movie night after dinner—something to take our minds off of everything."

"Did Skye name herself cruise director again?"

May smirks but doesn't respond. It would be nice to wear something casual and not be carving up a wall, so Phil heads to his quarters first. It takes a little longer than normal to change since he's cautious about the laceration on his chest. It's also over scar tissue, making the healing process that much more fun.

The last time he wore jeans, one of the two pairs he owns, everyone side-eyed him all night long. Giving in to being uber-casual in front of his team, he grabs a pair of standard issue sweat paints and an old Army Rangers t-shirt. He even finds the guts to only wear socks on his feet.

Living on the edge.

With the safety of knowing he has a full back-up suit with shoes and dress socks stashed in his office in case it's needed.

Anna's room is on the other side of the complex, closer to where most of the others are bunking. Phil took the one set of quarters that was originally for the base's commander, not for the prestige but for the proximity to his office. But before he can get to her, he sees she's already up.

Anna's lingering in the doorway of the mess hall, her back to him and her shoulders taut as she listens to another round of Simmons, Fitz, Mack, and Skye all passively aggressing picking each other apart. Jemma makes some comment about wanting to help, Mack pulls a face, and Fitz complains once more about her leaving. Before Phil can jump in and mediate, Anna steps forward.

"Just because she left doesn't mean she wanted to," she argues. "Leaving is never someone's first choice, but sometimes it has to happen or else everyone will just be worse off. Even if walking away makes you feel like you're leaving all your internal organs behind." She pauses to stare down Mack—someone nearly three times her size. "And if you weren't around when it happened, you don't get to judge."

Phil's heart swells in his chest, and he has to clamp down on the proud smile that threatens to emerge.

"Who's this?" Hunter, beer in hand, asks from his seat at the table where he is clearly ready to eat despite previous protests.

"She's with me," Phil announces before thinking about how those words sound. Skye arches an eyebrow at him, and he's pretty sure Jemma sucked in a hopeful gasp. Anna merely turns around and looks him up and down.

"I thought you said your injury was on your chest? You're dressed and talking like you have a head contusion."

"Hilarious," Phil comments.

Introductions are made with color commentary by Skye, who grabs Anna by the arm and makes the rounds. Phil can't actually control his grin when it's revealed that Bobbi's been married to both Hunter and Clint Barton. Anna's skeptical face is pretty priceless when it's not directed at him.

They make it through dinner with everyone on their best behavior before Jemma shooes them all into what's been dubbed Mack's cave for a movie. The mechanic grumbles at how many beanbags are littering his floor and how he has to be stuck in one of them since Phil was given the courteous spot of the couch.

Fitz distracts him with candy, and Phil once again wonders if the policy on fraternization needs to be revisited like the levels of classification.

Anna eyes the spot next to him before he gives a small nod. She leans her weight against him, and he shifts his arm to line the back of the couch so she can curl up against his side. Predictably, she's asleep ten minutes into the movie. Phil wonders if she's been getting as little sleep as he has. And as soon as he remembers how many hours he's spent awake in the last week, he feels his eyelids droop.

Nudging Anna awake gently with his shoulder, he apologizes for skipping out early for some much needed rest. Honestly, he's grateful for the escape because May picked the movie and her taste in cinema is terrible.

Hunter is the only one who makes a smart-ass remark about them going off together. Anna retaliates by stomping on his toes as she navigates the landmine of beanbags. "Oh, sorry," she half-heartedly apologizes while he hisses in pain.

When they're clear of everyone else, Phil lightly places a hand on Anna's back. "I'll walk you back to your room."

"Or you could walk me to yours," she offers. He pauses mid-step and she turns to face him. "I'm not asking for sex, although I'm not opposed to it, but I know I've been sleeping like shit and I'm told you have been too. I know I'll sleep a lot better if I can wake up and feel you there, hear you breathe. And if I can do that for you, too, I'm okay with that."

The offer is incredibly enticing, but he remembers what she said before dinner when she thought he wasn't around. "You've already left behind all your internal organs. I don't think I can take anything else from you."

"I'm not asking for a commitment," she reassures him. "Just a good night's sleep. If you want to talk things over in the morning, fine. But this is an attachment-free offer."

"I don't know how not have an attachment when it comes to you," he argues quietly.

He's not sure who initiates the kissing that follows, and he knows it's highly unprofessional to be making out with his—whatever. In sweats. In the middle of the base. But he doesn't care. They eventually stumble their way back to his quarters and barely manage to shut the door before clothing starts to come off. What small percentage of his brain that's capable of rational thought thinks the experience is more like the first time—when they still didn't know each other that well—than the last time—at Stark's tower when they were admittedly playing house. It feels like what could be a fresh start instead of a goodbye.

When Phil wakes the next morning, he knows that there's a HYDRA agent who wants him dead in the basement, that Ward's on the loose, and that he's running an agency that's greatly outmanned and outgunned.

But he also wakes with the scent of Anna's shampoo in his nose, her snoring softly against his neck, and his arm around her waist.

It's already the best morning he's had in a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil finds Anna sitting at Trip's bedside. They share a small smile when he enters. "How is he?" Phil asks.

"If I can decipher Jemma's nervous medical speak , stable," she answers. "He'll be here for a few days, and restricted for a couple weeks after that, at least. How are you?"

He drags a chair over next to hers. "Found the city we're looking for. We'll be taking off again in a few hours. Will you be okay here?"

She nods her head in Trip's direction. "Someone needs to sit here with him while you all go excavating or whatever."

"Jemma's staying behind," Phil says.

Anna leans in her chair to peer through windows across the hall. "She seems pretty tied up with whoever that is over there."

Phil follows her line of vision to see Jemma inspecting monitors above Bakshi's bed. "That would be a HYDRA agent we've had in the basement who tried to kill himself by activating a cyanide tablet embedded in his cheekbone." When he turns back to Anna, she has a slightly terrified look on her face. "What?"

"We're going to call that an overshare."

"Sorry," he apologizes.

Her left hand reaches over to catch his tie between her fingers, and his chest swells with pride. "Noticed this, by the way."

Phil smiles softly. "We stopped by Oahu. Trip was kind enough to pick up my dry cleaning."

She snorts. "Our one attempt at a vacation."

Phil feels his forehead crinkle in confusion. "I seem to remember other attempts at vacations."

"And I seem to remember telling you I'd never use the v-word until we made it completely through the trip without some agent showing up at the hotel door because you'd turned your cell phone off and no one but you could solve the next big crisis." A rush of guilt flushes his face, but she soothes his nerves a little by running her fingers down the tie. "Surprised they kept it around for four years."

"I'm an excellent tipper."

Her smile warms his heart, and he reaches over to brush a loose curl out of her face. "You don't have to be here."

"No shit," she responds before sighing. "Mack came to have a talk with me while you were gone."

"About what?" Phil questions, unsure of what Mack and Anna would have in common enough to discuss.

"You scared the bejeezus out of him when you went into the machine. Compared you to The Excorcist."

"That's ridiculous," Phil replies, trying to cover up his nerves about her finding out details of what happened. "My head never spun around, and there was no pea green soup vomit."

"Phil," she sighs. "This lifestyle of aliens and replaced memories, it's not normal to all of us."

"It's not normal to me, either," he reassures her. "He tell you about that to make sure you knew what you were getting into?"

Anna nods. "Told him I already had a pretty good idea. Sharing a bed with you during a night terror can be pretty terrifying, and I've already buried you once, after all." She shrugs one shoulder and looks at her shoes. "He thinks me being with you isn't worth the sacrifice. That I'm wasting a shot at a normal life by hanging out with you freaks."

"And what do you think?" Phil asks softly, fear pooling in his stomach at what she might say.

She looks up and studies his face a moment before answering. "I think I stopped being normal long before you ever came around, and I have no hope of going back."

"You should still be playing in a symphony."

Her mouth opens to respond, but she rolls her lips together instead. "We're not having this conversation right now."

"We need to have—"

"I know, I just can't right now."

"Why?" he questions.

"Because I don't know what I want and therefore can't argue my point." She pauses to run her fingers through her hair. "I miss it," she admits quietly. "But I feel like I have some mark against me and I need to know I can prove that I'm healthy and whole before I go to another audition."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. He could apologize for eternity, but it would never feel like enough. "Don't give up on your career, please."

Her smile is a bitter one. "That's incredibly kind of you to say considering I beg you to leave your job at least twice a week."

"Anna—"

"We'll talk when you get back," she says in her tone that means she's absolutely done with things. "You've got a mission." She stares at him for a second, her eyes squinting, and he hates that she knows him so well. "What aren't you telling me?"

Phil knows trying to hide the truth from her will only land him in a heaping mess of trouble, so he cranes his neck to make sure no one is nearby before answering her question. "The man who shot Trip is Skye's father."

"What?" Anna gasps.

"We ran into him—"

She waves off his words. "Skye told me about finding his… wreckage."

"She doesn't know he's the one who did this, and I'd like to keep that quiet." He watches her debate whether or not she should push the topic before she barely nods. "I think he'll find us when we get to this city, and there'll be some kind of show down."

"And what are you going to do about that?"

He feels his chest squeeze so tightly he can barely breathe. Losing Skye is not an option; he'll fight like hell to keep her with him. "Whatever's necessary."

Anna gives him a half-smile as she brushes her knuckles against his cheek. "You're cute when you're gearing up for a paternal rights fight."


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTES: **This story will go on hiatus while the show is on hiatus. Need to devote some writing time to other stories while the show is on a break (and probably fight the urge to write Peggy stuff with the start of Agent Carter). Thank you so much for reading. Hope you come back to the story in March.

* * *

When Phil wakes, everything hurts. He stays still not to absorb the details of the sounds around him, but because he's afraid of what fresh hell movement will cause. The steady beeping from above his head is pretty clear sign he's in some hospital bed, and when he gathers the courage to open his eyes, his theory is proven correct.

To his left, Anna is curled up in a chair. Her clothes don't match, she's not wearing any makeup, and her hair is falling out of its ponytail. The sight is simultaneously wonderful and painful, and he adds this date to the list of times he's hurt with his job.

She must sense he's awake, because she stirs. He does his best to smile at her, but all it does is break open the cut on his lip. She swears under breath, grabs a tissue, and puts some pressure on his lip to help it stop bleeding. "Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he answers. "Do you know what happened?" Her eyes duck away for a moment, and his stomach tightens. Something bad happened, but the last thing he can remember was a possessed Mack coming at him outside the temple entrance.

"Some," Anna answers. "They've told me a little bit, but I'm supposed to get May when you wake up."

She stands to leave, but he manages to grab her wrist before she gets away. "Who?" he asks. "Who did we lose?"

"Phil, I don't know details. May can—"

"Who?" he demands again. He hates forcing her to break the news to him, but he can't stand being awake a second more and not knowing which of them didn't make it back.

"Trip," she says quietly. "He's gone."

Phil closes his eyes at the news and says a silent farewell in his mind. Of course it will be detrimental to them to lose such an able and talented agent like Trip, but they've also lost a dear friend. One who'd had Phil's back no matter what.

Just as the pain starts needling into his heart, Anna sits down gingerly on the edge of his bed. His stomach drops at the thought of losing someone else, because if she's being this gentle with the news, then…

"Honey, they can't find Skye."

He wishes the earth would come up and swallow him. No pain has matched this, not even Loki's wound. His girl is gone.

Anna's mutters something, kisses him gently on the forehead, and leaves. A moment later, May is standing by his bedside, but his mind is still lost and trying to make sense of things. "Skye?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"We're tracking her. At least, we think it's her," May answers.

"What do you mean?" Phil asks as she tries to prop himself up a little in his bed. He immediately regrets the decision.

"You have a concussion, two broken ribs, multiple lacerations, and a collapsed lung."

"Had worse," he tries to joke. It's ineffective . "Why do you think it's Skye?"

"It's either her or Raina," May says. "We found Trip's clothing in the temple, so we know those remains were his. But we didn't find anything of Raina or Skye. There was an earthquake with its epicenter under San Juan when all of this went down. There were no signs that an earthquake was expected, so we think it has something to do with the temple."

"How bad was it?" Phil asks.

"Bad," Melinda answers. "And HYDRA leaked it to the news that S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved, so our reputation has taken an even greater hit."

"Just what we need," Phil mutters.

"Stark has been running interference for us and helping with relief and rebuilding efforts."

"You know he's going to call in that favor eventually," Phil tells her, and she nods. "So how are you tracking Skye?"

"Tectonic activity," she replies. "Like I said, the earthquake was unexplained and random. Fitz has been keeping an eye on that kind of unexpected quakes, and he's found a trail of smaller incidents over the last few days. They lead away from Puerto Rico and toward Asia."

"Her father take her?"

May shrugs. "Can't find him either."

Phil sighs as the information settles into his mind. "Are you trying to tell me that Skye can cause earthquakes now?"

"Either she or Raina; that's Fitz's best theory."

It's a terrifying possibility, this idea that he's led Skye into becoming a gifted. But if means they can keep track of where she is…

"I probably should've asked this sooner," Phil says, "but where the hell are we?"

"Bobbi, Hunter, and me—well, technically Fitz and Simmons, too—were able to pull all of you out. You and Mack needed immediate medical attention, and since word had already been released that we were involved, our options were limited. Simmons has some loyal friends here, so we snuck you two in."

"None of you were hurt?" Phil asks.

"We didn't require immediate care," is all May says in return.

"You still didn't mention where 'here' is."

"Simmons's friends are with the CDC, so—"

"We're in a hospital in Atlanta?" Phil asks, his stomach dropping. "And Anna's here?"

"Yes," May answers, her tone making it clear she hasn't put together whatever Phil's talking about. "Jemma called her from the plane. Barton and Natasha brought her down here. Why? We thought you'd be happy to wake up and see her."

"The last time Anna was in a hospital in Atlanta, her three-day-old son died." May doesn't respond, just rolls her lips. Phil sighs as best as he can and tries once more to figure out the next step. "We're going to have to lay low for awhile if the press is after us again. We're sure Trip's really gone?"  
May nods. "I already called his family and arranged for services."

"That should've been my job."

"You were a little busy with a coma," she responds.

"Funny," he mutters. "In an hour, I want a full report on everything I missed, the status on our bases, and an update on possible locations for Skye and Raina."

May turns and leaves to follow orders. When she's out the door, Anna peeks her head in and Phil calls her over. He steels himself for words he doesn't want to say, but it needs done.

"Mack's lurking in the hallway to apologize to you," she says as she walks in. "Something about karma for calling you possessed?"

"I'll handle that in a second," he tells her as she settles back into her chair. "I'm sorry," he apologizes.

Anna shrugs. "Oddly, I've gotten pretty used to you getting hurt and worrying myself sick about it."

"I was apologizing for making you come back here."

She freezes, a human knot of tension that drives of wedge of guilt into Phil's gut. "I had to come make sure you were okay for myself," she says softly. "I didn't need your redhead showing up again to tell me you were gone."

"Even though it meant coming here?" he asks. She looks out the window instead of giving him an answer, and he shakes his head. "Anna, I can't do this to you anymore."

"Do what, exactly?"

"This," he says with half-hearted wave of his hand. "You're not working because someone broke your hand to get to me. You've already had to bury me once. You have no friends of your own because my life is full of secrets and you have live in it. And now I've dragged you to the place you swore you'd never come back to."

"Phil—"

"You can do better than me, easily," Phil tells her. "And you should. You don't deserve this kind of life. And you shouldn't have to live it. I just—"

"You're done talking now," Anna tells him. He opens his mouth to argue his point some more, but her sharp look makes him clamp his jaw shut. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Most of the time, yes."

The joke almost makes her crack a smile, but not quite. "You think I keep coming back to you because I don't think I can do better, but the real reason is because I can't live without you. Had to do that for a little bit, and life was awful."

"I seem to recall that you tried to break up with me in New York when you were living in Stark's tower," Phil points out.

"And I seem to recall that you were acting like a dick, so…" She pauses to pick at her nails. "The baby died twelve years ago."

"Doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt. You can't tell me that."

"Fair enough," she admits.

"You should be playing in a symphony."

"Phil—"

"You should."

She sighs and shakes her head. "Phil, I don't even know if I want to play in a symphony anymore. I honestly can't name one thing I want anymore, except you."

"I can't offer you a normal life."

At that, she laughs. "You remember that my life has never been normal, right? I lost my mom before I was in first grade, became a widow in my twenties just a little bit after burying my newborn. And that didn't include the phase of my life where, among other things, I tried to get guys to date me in college without them finding out that my father was on track to become Chief of Staff for the Army."

"You deserve to have a quiet, regular life."

"And I wouldn't know what that'd look like even if it jumped up and bit me in the ass." She reaches out and gingerly takes his fingers in hers. He squeezes back to let her know that's one part of him that doesn't hurt. "So here's what's going to happen: you're going quit trying to dump me, you're going to quit busting up your face, you're going to get better, and you're going to find our girl."


	9. Chapter 9

**NOTES: **This show is back, which means this story is returning, too.

And since we had a big hiatus, we can wave a wand and ignore some continuity issues between this chapter and the previous one, right? Right. (Sorry about that.)

* * *

Phil stumbles into his quarters and wants nothing more to fall face-first onto his gloriously fluffy bed, but his face is still beat to hell and hurts constantly. When he reaches the bedroom of his small apartment at The Playground, he finds Anna sitting on the bed with her computer in her lap.

"How was it?" she greets.

Phil shrugs while sinking on to the bed and removing his shoes, jacket, and tie. "She kept trying to comfort me," he answers. "I don't know. I'm just tired."

"You can sleep, at least for a little while if you want," Anna offers. "I'll barricade the door."

"It's okay," he says while stretching out on the bed. "What are you up to?"

"Trying to find a way to tell my sister that the reason I can't meet up with her in New York next week is because I've kind of moved into a top secret base with my boyfriend that she thinks died a couple years ago."

"How's that going?"

"Not well," she answers. He feels his face fall a little, and Anna must see it too, because she reaches out to take his hand. "I meant the lying part, not the living with you part."

"Yeah," he replies, not entirely sure what else to say and too damn tired to push things. "Where's everyone else?"

"Having their own little memorial and story circle for Trip." She pauses to shrug. "Jemma invited me, but I felt like I'd be intruding."

"You know they consider you family," he says gently.

"Some of them, sure. Still haven't won over the newbies, but that's fine."

Phil frowns and closes his eyes. "I haven't either apparently."

He can feel Anna watching him for a moment before he hears her close her laptop. The mattress shifts as she stretches out beside him, and she lightly runs her fingers over the planes of his face. He'd love it if she did her usual move of draping herself on him, but the rest of his body is as bruised as his head, and everything hurts. He winces when she grazes a sensitive spot, and she whispers an apology.

"I promise, I'm not usually this beat up all the time," he tells her. "I know you don't usually see me working, but it honestly isn't like this. Sorry you have to see it."

"You don't get it, do you?" she asks, and the question catches him off guard. He opens his eyes to find her propped up on an elbow, looking down at him.

"Get what?"

She purses her lips, a common expression when she's trying to be careful with her words. "Of course I hate seeing you in pain and beat up, but I get to see it," she explains. "I'm not sitting in my apartment alone with my cat wondering what fresh hell you're enduring. My mind isn't racing with a thousand possibilities—all of them horrible—about what you could be up against. I can see you and touch you. I know what your condition is and if you're okay. Yeah, me living with you here may not be the easiest thing in the world, but I'll take it over not knowing what's going on with you and waiting for you to find time to call me. So stop beating yourself up."

"Actually, this time I was beat up by someone else," he quips.

"Hilarious," she mutters as she leans down closer to him only to jerk backwards. "When was the last time you showered or changed your clothes and bandages?"

"From your reaction, I'm guessing too long?"

Anna nods. "You're a little smelly, and I don't want your entire face to become infected."

"You could give me a sponge bath," he suggests.

"You're the only one who finds that idea sexy," she retorts before grabbing his hand and pulling him up. "C'mon. Shower for you."

"You could join me."

Anna snorts. "You're in no condition for shower sex."

"I know," he concedes. "I just want you there to make sure I don't fall and hit my head. Again."

The corner of her mouth turns up into a tiny smile, and she goes on her tip toes to gently kiss his cheek. Phil lets her pull him into the bathroom, remove his clothes and whatever bandages she feels is safe to take off without his wounds breaking open again. Despite her earlier crack against sponge baths, she does the work of cleaning up for him. He gratefully goes pliant and relishes in the delicateness of her touch as she washes his hair and body. The weight of everything that has happened over the last few days crashes into him, and he can start to taste a hint of salt in the water on his face as his breath shutters in his chest.

"Phil?" Anna asks. One hand goes to his chest while the other gently touches his face. He plants his hands on her hips to steady himself as a sob threatens once more.

"We lost Trip," he gets out. "We almost lost Skye."

"I know," Anna says while placing kisses on his jaw. "I know, Phil."

"I could get them all killed," he admits. The comment causes Anna to redirect her contact to his mouth. She kisses him soundly enough to bring his head out of this sudden fog, but carefully enough that she doesn't reopen the wound on his bottom lip.

"You all know what you signed up for, what it could cost. Don't cheapen it for them."

Phil nods, regaining control over his emotions. "And don't get them killed?"

"I'd appreciate that, yes."


	10. Chapter 10

Phil stops short outside a stairwell. Going up leads to a discrete exit out into the woods, while going down takes you to a series of storage units at the base. What is normally not there is the deep, melodic sounds of a cello.

May shoots him a confused look, and he shrugs. "She likes playing in stairwells. Good acoustics or something." She sends one more dubious look at the door leading to the stairs before she stalks off.

They've just returned from dropping off Sif and the Kree—Vin-Tak—out in the woods so they could be sent back to Asgard. On the short drive back to the Playground, an upset Jemma had called them to let them know that Skye had locked herself away in one of the interrogation rooms after overhearing a conversation about whether they needed protection from Skye—or vice versa.

Phil'd cut the conversation off tersely, feeling waves of anger come off of May. He was sure the anger was directed at both the situation they'd all found themselves in as well as at herself for not putting two and two together faster about Skye's new condition.

Once May is gone, Phil leans against the doorjamb of the stairwell entrance, closes his eyes, and just breathes with Anna's music. He tries to remember the last time he heard her play, but it's been months. He's pretty sure her cello hasn't come out of its case since she started living among the agents. At least there is one good thing that has come out of all of this mess.

He listens for a few minutes while waiting for her current music selection—something he can't place—to end. Once the last note trails off against the walls of the stairwell, he slowly pushes open the door. Anna gives him a little smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and holds up her index finger. She leans into some electronic device attached to the wall next to her. "Skye? I'm going to take a little intermission. Let me know if you have any new requests." She then hits the mute button, and Phil slips completely inside and lets the door close behind him. "Last time you walked in on me like this, you almost gave me a heart attack," Anna says.

Phil smiles. It was the first time he'd seen her since being raised from the dead. Granted, it wasn't the best approach to telling you girlfriend that you're still alive, but he was desperate. "Serenading the self-imposed prisoner?"

Anna nods. "She packed a bag to take with her, but her iPod was almost dead, so I've been playing her music for the last forty minutes. You missed a rather inventive rendition of 'Drunk in Love.'"

"That's a shame," he replies while leaning back against the concrete wall. Exhaustion from the last week overwhelms him, and he slowly slides down until he's sitting on the cold floor. "How's your hand?"

Anna flexes the fingers of her right hand out in front of her, clearly trying to hide her grimace. "I'm rusty."

"Nice to meet you rusty, I'm Phil."

She snorts. "Why am I sleeping with someone who tells dad jokes?"

"It's all part of my charm."

"Something like that."

"When did you get back?" Phil asks. She's been gone for the last couple of days visiting Felix in New York. Mack's cat allergy prevents the feline from living at the base, and while Phil gets nervous about her traveling back and forth, he doesn't mind not having to contend with her cat.

"Clint landed a few minutes after you and May left."

"Is he still here?"

"I think so," Anna answers. "Said he had to talk to Bobbi about something. Sorry I missed meeting your favorite Asgardian."

"This time wouldn't have been the best. She was having memory issues."

"How many pictures did you show her of the two of you hanging out to prove that you're friendlies?"

"Only two," he mutters, and Anna laughs. "And despite what you're thinking, I wasn't going to make a threesome offer."

"But only because of the memory issues, right?" she responds while lightly kicking his foot. They sit in silence for a minute before Anna says, "I didn't get to talk to many people, but it sounds like you've got some split ideas on how to take care of Skye."

"I know," he sighs while running his hand over his face. "I was leaning toward Jemma's stance with shoot first, ask questions later."

"But now it's Skye that you'd have to shoot."

"Yeah." Phil can hear another series of questions getting ready to pour out of Anna, and he just can't think straight enough to deal with it right now. He never wanted to be in charge, and this is why. He'll carry out orders just fine—as long as they're ones he can stomach—but having to be the person to issue those orders and decide what's best? No. He never wanted that. Nick had both the ability and the ambition to hold the position of Director. Phil is just exhausted by the whole thing. "You mind playing some more?" he asks.

Anna shakes her head and starts to stretch out her fingers for a few moments before unmuting whatever audio device Fitz undoubtedly set up for her. "You still there?" Anna asks.

"Yeah," Skye answers.

"Any requests?"

"Something calm," Skye tells her.

Anna tilts her head to the side for a moment before closing her eyes and soothing both Skye and Phil with music. The melody sounds familiar, but it's been ages since he heard it. Half of the song passes by before he can place it as a tune from an old Disney cartoon movie. _Snow White_? _Cinderella_? _Sleeping Beauty_? Something like that.

Wherever it's from, it at least calms Phil down, and he hopes that somewhere below them, it does the same for Skye.

* * *

**NOTES: **For the record, the Disney song Anna plays at the end is "Sing Sweet Nightingale" from _Cinderella_.


	11. Chapter 11

Phil jerks out of his thoughts as Anna's hand curves over his thigh. He gives her an apologetic smile for drifting off into his mind and shovels another bite of spaghetti into his mouth. Anna had dragged him back to their quarters to "put a decent meal" in him. Said meal involved spaghetti and a salad. She'd even been nice enough to use ground turkey, organic tomato sauce, and whole wheat pasta for the meal to accommodate his need to eat healthy and stay fit. Normally, if he were preparing the meal, he'd go with zucchini or squash to make the noodles, but Anna said that was a bridge too far. "There's being healthy, and then there's being ridiculous," she'd commented the one time he'd tried to serve her his variation of the meal.

"Sorry," Phil apologizes while reminding himself not to inhale his meal and get back to work. Anna's right; he needs to take a minute and breathe after events of the last few days.

"Thinking about Skye, her dad, or your hometown?" she asks.

"All of the above?"

She gives his thigh a squeeze before withdrawing her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," he responds. "I laid some guy out on my dad's football field. Didn't realize till it was happening how much I wanted to do that. I'd forgotten how I'd planned on playing football for him. Not that I would've been tall enough or big enough to make the team, but… I couldn't help but wonder if he would've been proud of me."

"I'm sure he would be," she reassures him quietly.

They both know what it feels like to have to bury both of your parents—one at a young age and the other as an adult. They know what it feels like to pause at random points in their lives and wonder if a parent would be pleased with them in that moment.

"You have time for any kind of reunion?" she asks.

Phil shakes his head. "No. And we moved to Chicago when I was eleven. I'm not sure who would still be there after thirty-five years or what they'd even look like."

"Bet they'd recognize you, though." Phil only has a few pictures of his dad that move around with him. And Anna's right, Phil is a spitting image of his father, except his eye color comes from his mother's side of the family. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Anna tells him.

"It's fine," he half-lies. He debates serving himself another helping of spaghetti. He wants food, a shower, and to sleep for about three days.

And to figure out how to help Skye. His brain whispers that doing so will require her to change back to who she was, to make her normal again. But maybe her insane father has a point. Has S.H.I.E.L.D. done the right thing with its Index? Should these people be monitored? Locked away? Should they be left alone to live life on their own? The argument was always that they'd use their powers for evil and not good. But would they even bother evil if they weren't being watched?

"May's ex staying for a while?" Anna asks as she starts clearing her place at the table.

"Probably not," Phil answers. "S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't really his thing anymore."

"Is she his thing anymore?"

Phil shrugged. "I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole."

"You ever touch May with your pole?" Phil head jerks around to look at her. She shrugs will rinsing off her plate. "I'm not going to be mad if you've slept with her at some point. Unless that point happened when we were together."

"I've never been unfaithful to you," he swears.

"I know," she answers with a smile. "Because you know what I'll do to you if you cheat on me."

"That thing with Loki will look like a walk in the park."

"You're deflecting," she chides while taking her seat next to him once more. "If you don't want to talk to me about it—"

"We were young," he says, the words falling out of him. He's made a promise to be open with her about things, and it's not like his relationship history with May has any security secrets that could put her at risk. "It was when we were both just starting out as agents. Nothing serious, just something we did for fun every now and then."

"Friends with benefits?" Anna asks.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Ever get serious?"

Phil shakes his head. "I never offered her anything more than just fun. But then Nick came into the picture and did exactly that. So she started something up with him, and it lasted for a while."

"Why'd they divorce?" she asks and when Phil gives her a look she rolls her eyes. "I don't have that many friends, and I have an inherent need to gossip from time to time. Help me out, and I'll make it worth your while," she adds with waggle of her eyebrows.

He sighs and caves. "They were both gone a lot and some other things happened—I'm not trying to be coy, I'm just not going to cross May and spill too many of her secrets."

"And she married this psychologist guy after?"

"Andrew? Yeah."

"You don't sound too impressed with him. Personally, I mean. Clearly, you trust him professionally."

Phil sighs. He knows it's not easy for a civilian to be in a relationship with an agent, clearly. But part of him always felt like Andrew gave up too easily on Melinda. Phil will be the first to admit that she's not the easiest person to be around and that she considers her emotions to be her worst enemy most days, but still. Andrew's profession was to help people like that, and he just walked away.

"He thinks we should send Skye away," he admits instead of explaining Andrew's relationship with May.

"And what do you think?"

"That I don't want her out of my sight." He runs his hand over his face. "Her dad thinks I'm trying to control her, but really I—"

Anna reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh again. "I know. You just want her to be safe, but you don't know what that looks like yet."

He thinks back to the conversation he had in his office with Jemma an hour ago and his stomach swims. No. He doesn't know what that will look like at all.


	12. Chapter 12

Phil walks into his quarters to find Anna folding laundry in their bedroom. "Before you put that away, I have a favor to ask." She pauses halfway through folding one of the t-shirts she likes sleeping in. It's gray and old, judging by how soft it is. It's one of Phil's favorites. "You want to spend some time away at a cabin?"

Anna arches an eyebrow his direction. "You're actually taking some time off work so we can slip away together somewhere?"

Guilt causes his shoulders to tighten. "Umm, I should've probably prefaced that I'll be staying here at the base."

"Of course," she mutters as she turns back to folding her laundry. "You've never taken time off before, why would you start now?"

"I need you to go with Skye," he tells her.

That makes her turn and sit on the bed, leaving her laundry alone once more. "Why?" she asks quietly.

"I can't spare an agent. May's ex wants Skye out of S.H.I.E.L.D. completely, but I can't let her go, even if it's what's best for her. But I can at least put her somewhere safe and isolated while she learns how to deal with all of these changes until we can fix her mutation."

"Who says you have to fix it? Or should?"

He sighs as he sits next to her on the bed. A small part of his mind wants to collapse fully back onto the mattress, maybe bury his face in her clean laundry and just breathe the scent of fabric softener for a little while. Just the kind of thing a S.H.I.E.L.D. Director should do in a time like this. "I don't know, Anna. It's new territory. Everything we've done since Stark had a mid-life crisis and built his suit has been new territory. I used to know what to expect from a day's work, but now…"

She scoots over and leans her head on his shoulder. "What's with this cabin?"

"It was Fury's. Steve Rogers stayed there after he thawed from the ice."

He can feel her grin against his shoulder. "You have to mention that little tidbit to everyone, don't you?"

"You're hilarious."

"I'm also correct, aren't I?"

"Plead the fifth," Phil retorts. "I want to send Skye there with a familiar face, but I need all my agents here. Clearly, I can't order you to go, but—"

"It's fine," she says as she stands to grab her suitcase from the closet. "I need some fresh air anyway. How long am I saying?"

"Pack enough clothes for four days. If you both need longer, I'll bring you some more clothes."

She sticks her head out of the closet, looking concerned. "Please tell me this place has running water."

He smiles. "For someone who's the daughter of an Army general, you're not great at roughing it."

"Said Army general treated his daughters like princesses. But just because I'm not a fan of peeing in the woods doesn't mean I can't hand you your ass."

"I'm aware," Phil admits.

"And I'm taking my cello," she announces as she tosses her suitcase onto the bed.

"You know there's only so much room for luggage and money in the budget for fuel."

"Says the man who flies a convertible everywhere."

"Touché." He moves to the nightstand on his side of the bed. "I want you to have some precautions with you, just in case." When he rests his thumb on the biometric scanner embedded in the wood, a drawer pops out, and he selects a couple of items. He holds out a handgun and Anna eyes it, clearly unsure about all of this. "It's one of our Night-Night guns," Phil explains. "It will just knock her unconscious."

"Doesn't mean I'm still comfortable with shooting her," she argues.

"Obviously, I don't want that to happen, but I need you to be prepared just in case."

Anna sighs but takes the pistol anyway. "Anything else I should be prepared for?"

"If the cabin starts shaking, run. But not too far, there are laser fences."

She shakes her head. "We'll discuss spy paranoia later, but Phil, you're not the only one who doesn't like the idea of abandoning her."

"I don't want a building collapsing on top of you."

"What other things do you have in motion?" she asks. When he hesitates, she gives him a sharp look. "You've already talked about fixing her, you wouldn't say—"

"Jemma made some gauntlets that might be able to help Skye."

"Might?" Anna questions. "Does Skye know about these things?"

"No," he answers quietly, and he can practically watch Anna's temper spike as she turns away from him to start throwing clothes into her suitcase. "I don't want us to have a fight right before you leave."

"Then don't pick one."

"Anna—"

"You died, Phil," she argues. "You died, and someone else made the choice to fix you. They didn't ask you, they just decided it needed to be done and did, consequences be damned. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I still have you around, but you cannot stand there and say that was the greatest thing that ever happened to you. You already made that decision once for Skye when you injected her with the alien whatever stuff. Doing it a second time might be pushing your luck."

"I know," he admits quietly. "But I don't know what else to do." She shakes her head and turns back to her packing. He steps forward and places his hands on her hips. Anna stills for a moment before turning and nestling her body against his.

"She's scared, Phil. And everyone's treating her like she's this broken thing."

"I know," he answers. "We're scared, too."

"Is something bad going to happen to us at the cabin?" she asks against the crook of his neck.

He wraps his arms around her waist and kisses the top of her head. "Not if I can help it."


	13. Chapter 13

Phil stands with his toes digging into the sand. All the bars and businesses on the small coastal island have closed up shop for the evening. He's staying in a beach bungalow that was one of the few safe houses he still had control over after his little dying stint in New York. Most of his personal safe houses were taken over by Fury, who hadn't necessarily given them back upon Phil's return. He's pretty sure Natasha has kept his few remaining safe houses a secret, and he owes her big time for that.

Hunter is inside snoring on the couch after drowning his sorrows in daiquiris and tiny umbrellas. They've got a plan. It may not work, but at least it's an attempt. All the various ways things may play out are among the million thoughts running through Phil's head as he stands in the moonlight, waves lapping at his bare feet.

He should call Maria for help. He and Hunter can accomplish a lot together, but Phil doesn't know how many men Gonzales has working for him, let alone how many people have been working for both the _Iliad_ commander and himself.

But if he calls Maria, it's like admitting defeat. She offered for him to come with her to Stark Industries, and he said he'd stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. And now is he not only in charge of some kind of an organization, but he's failing. He doesn't need Tony Stark to find out about this.

But the thing that makes his stomach swim, and not just from fruity drinks, is the text he and Hunter got. Either Simmons or Fitz, probably the latter, was able to break away and sent a short message: _Other S.H.I.E.L.D. attacked cabin. Skye vanished with unknown. Anna captured and brought back to our base. They're still in control. Contact server 42 when you can_.

Phil's mind will have the visual of "Anna captured" seared into his mind for the rest of his life. He'd treated Anna like an agent, sending her away with Skye. He'd even warned that Gonzales's people would be going after the cabin, but he hadn't been able to move fast enough.

Anna must be livid. Phil can basically feel her temper burning all the way to his spot on the beach. She didn't ask for this life. In fact, she'd asked him repeatedly to leave it. And not only had he refused, but she was now quite possibly going to be put into a hostage situation to lure him out of hiding for a second time.

If she didn't leave him after this, she was an idiot.

If he wanted to keep her but still demanded to keep his job, then he was the idiot.

Not quite a year ago, after the pregnancy scare, they agreed to wait twelve months and then have a serious discussion about whether they should start a family. It was something he'd once dreamed of and then pushed down and ignored because of his career. A career that had already claimed his life once, that was full of his friends and coworkers revealing themselves as traitors, and consumed every second of his life.

He could've walked away. He could've started a family. One that lived at this beautiful beach bungalow.

But then what would have happened to his team tonight? Would they have been more prepared or less? Would May have seen this coming if she were the one in charge?

He sighs, more unsure about everything then he'd ever been in his life. He inhales deeply, drowning out his rampant thoughts with the scents and sounds of the beach around him. He tells himself to break it down into manageable steps. Get to the base, rescue Anna, have a sit-down with Gonzales, find out more about what happened to Skye and get her back. Use aggression if necessary.

He hopes it won't be necessary.


	14. Chapter 14

Phil stills at the sound of the phone in the cabin ringing. Very few people have that number, but he's sure most, if not all, would be on his side. Hunter looks at him expectantly. "Want me to get that?" he asks.

Phil shakes his head. He performs a quick run through of their resources in case picking up gives them away, and grabs the receiver. He doesn't say anything, just holds his breath and waits for the other person on the line to make the first move.

"ID confirm," the caller orders.

The voice is gravely and familiar, and Phil feels some of the tension in his back drain just a hair. "Coulson-alpha-seven-two."

"Hey, boss," Clint greets.

"Technically, you don't work for me anymore, but if you want to change your mind—"

"I've got Anna," Clint interrupts.

Phil's stomach feels like it might drop through the cabin's sub-basement at those three words. "Is she okay? How—"

"Talk to her yourself," Clint chuckles.

There's a shuffling sound over the phone and then a groggy voice. "'lo?" Anna greets.

"Hey," Phil answers. "Are you alright? Fitz said Gonzales's team—"

"Where's Skye? Phil, we were running away from the… I guess the not-your agents, and then… I don't know, I guess I got hit in the head with something. I blacked out and woke up in New York. Is she okay?"

She sounds disoriented, tired, and hurt. What he wouldn't give for a teleporter right now to sit on the bed with her. "She's gone, Anna." A faint whimper can be heard on the other side of the line, and Phil's chest tightens. "Someone took her, but I'll get her back," he vows. "You know I will."

"Is she back at the base?"

"No," Phil tells her, his eyes turning to the computer where he and Hunter had watched the recording of Skye vanishing to an unknown location. "We don't where she is, but we'll find her."

"Who took her?"

Phil shrugs, even though she can't see it. "Caucasian male, forties." He hears Hunter mutter something about burying the lead, and Phil glares at him. "No eyes."

"Gordon," Anna says softly.

"You know him?"

Anna grunts and he can hear her shift on what he assumes is a bad. Felix meows in the background, and she shushes him. "He came to the cabin the night before."

"And you let him in?" he asks tightly.

"He said he could help Skye, and from the looks of him, it seemed he had more knowledge on the subject than anyone else."

"We're trying to help her, too," Phil argued.

"Helping is not hiding her in the middle of nowhere and basically building handcuffs for her powers. That's containment, and we all know it, especially Skye."

He clenches his jaw. She doesn't sound like she's healthy enough to fight, and he doesn't have the energy for it. "What did he say to her when he visited?" he asks instead.

"I don't know," she answers. "She told me she felt safe around him, and his face was kind of creeping me out, so I stepped outside and walked around the cabin while they talked. Skye invited me back in after he evaporated or whatever."

"Did she say what they talked about?"

"I don't know, maybe. My memory's kind of shit right now. Talk to Clint."

Before he can object and keep her on the line, Clint's voice greets him again. "What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"How did she get there?" Phil questions.

"Gift-wrapped basically," he answers. "Complete with a note from Bobbi. Guess Skye knocked everyone out, if they were lucky. Anna missed the brunt of the wave but still went flying into a tree. She's got a nasty cut on the back of her head and an equally nasty concussion. But other than that and some bruises, she'll be fine."

"I'd heard she was captured," Phil says.

"Bobbi said the base wasn't a place for a civilian. I guess Gonzales's men—and Maria's tracking them, by the way —came back to pick up the guys your girl knocked out, found Anna, and brought her back to the base. They got her well enough to travel, and then someone coded a message that I had a package on my roof, and there she was. I'm keeping an eye on her, boss. I think they gave her some meds to knock her out. It's screwing with her short-term memory a bit, but if it's any of the usual stuff in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medicine cabinet that they've tried out on me, she'll be fine in a day or two."

Phil knew exactly what Clint was talking about. It wasn't uncommon for S.H.I.E.L.D. to drug someone when they were captured to disorient them as they were moved to a second location. Why they'd decided to drug Anna was something burning at Phil. She wasn't a threat, but maybe they knew she'd pass along any information she heard.

"Is that Phil?" he hears Anna ask in the background. "Is he okay?"

"Sure is," Clint answers easily, pretending that Anna wasn't on the phone sixty seconds ago. "You wanna say hi?"

"Phil?" she says when she's back on the line. "Where are you? I tried to call you, but you wouldn't answer. I had to call Clint, instead."

Phil hears Clint snort in the background and can't help but smile. "I'm at Fury's cabin."

"I thought I was at the cabin," she says, her confusion evident in her voice.

"You were," Phil tells her gently. "But now you're in New York with Clint, and I'm here."

"Ships passing the night," she murmurs.

"Something like that."

The line goes quiet for a second and then it's Clint again. "Sorry, boss, she fell asleep again."

"You're sure she's going to be alright?" Phil asks.

"She's gonna be fine," Clint reassures him. "I'll take care of her and Stark's med team is on speed dial if things head south. You find out whatever shit this 'Real S.H.I.E.L.D.' is up to."

"Yeah," Phil answers. "Thank you, Clint."

"Anytime, Coulson."

When he hangs the phone back up on the wall, he hears the soft thud of two glass tumblers on a table. He turns to find Hunter pouring booze from a flask. It's not the best solution in the world for their current and multiple woes, but it's certainly not the worst.


	15. Chapter 15

There's a rhythmic knock on the door that causes both Phil and Hunter's heads to snap up. Hunter rubs his hand over his face and sits up from where he was napping on the couch. Phil half-organizes his various documents and technology on the bed so he can get up to answer the door.

The knock repeats itself before Phil can finish unbolting the locks. He knows that pattern, just like he knows that if it sounds a third time, Clint Barton will come crashing into the place with a weapon drawn in fear of Phil being compromised. That, he knows from experience. Twice, it had saved Phil's life. Once, it'd just pissed him off since it interrupted his first bit of sleep in three days.

He checks the peephole before quickly opening the door and letting Clint manhandle Fitz inside. The younger man shrugs Clint's hand off his shoulder and sends him an angry look. "I know how to move quickly, thank you," he snips.

"You have a memorable foreign accent and skin as pale as the moon," Clint argues. "We're in Mexico, and you have no field experience."

"I have some," Fitz mutters.

"Thanks for helping us out," Phil says to Clint. "But if you're here, then—"

"Nat's got her. For now, anyway; Stark called me on the way down to put me on alert."

"What's up?" Hunter asks, rising from the couch.

The two agents stare each other down for a second before Clint shrugs. "Could be something, could be a glitch in the new system he's working on with Banner."

"If the Avengers are off somewhere…"

Clint waves him off nonchalantly. "Pepper said she'd take Anna and fly to middle-of-nowhere Idaho if they had to, and I'm quoting here, 'escape the consequences of their idiot boyfriends.'"

Phil fakes a smile but internally cringes for two reasons. First, Pepper Potts is still apparently displeased with him for playing dead on her. The second is that this all makes Anna feel further away. The feeling is amplified tenfold when Clint flicks something shiny his direction, and on instinct, Phil catches it. A quarter.

"You know what it means?" Clint asks.

Phil nods as he turns it over and over in his head. It's a story that Anna's told him, one of the few memories she has of her mother. She would give Anna's father, the Army general, a quarter whenever he left for a mission or tour of duty. His orders were that he was to find the nearest payphone when he was ready to come home, and to know that in the interim she and everything else at home would be just fine, so don't worry.

Except he's really good at worrying.

He pockets the coin. "If you need to get back, feel free to go," Phil says. "Stark's not exactly the patron saint of patience."

That earns a snort out of Clint. "You sure? Think I'd rather run around with you guys."

"We need help that's a little more modern than a bow and arrow, mate," Hunter replies.

Clint flips him off, and then the two men do some kind of weird shuffling of stances. Phil theorizes it's some kind of silent communication that only former husbands of "fiendish, lying she-beasts" can understand. Hunter's words, obviously. "I'll keep in touch as much as I can," he says before he's out the door again.

Fitz huffs at his exit. "I've had field experience, thank you very much."

Phil fights a smile, knowing it will just piss the young man off further. He's come a long way in the last not-quite year. Not only in becoming his own person, but also in regaining power and dexterity in his hands. Phil's not even sure Fitz notices how much he's tossing objects back and forth between his hands or twirling things with his fingers.

"I had to help you out of the bathroom," Hunter counters.

"I was being tailed," Fitz reminds them.

"And you did a great job of shaking them on your first try," Phil says in an attempt to soothe. "You have the toolbox?"

Fitz slides the book bag off his shoulders, unzips a small pocket, and pulls out the black cube. He flicks it at Phil, who catches it and restrains from sighing. "I looked at a couple of things," Fitz admits sheepishly. "I swear I was just trying to find you."

"How'd you crack it open in the first place?"

The engineer shrugs. "I could explain it, but it would take a lot of time and diagrams."

"Fair point," Phil responds. "And don't worry, anything extremely sensitive has extra layers of security that can even prevent rocket scientists from snooping." He turns it on, and around them, holographic files begin to swirl.

Hunter spins slowly in a circle, poking at a document here and there. "What does this do to our plan?"

Phil looks at the blue light surrounding them. "Changes everything."


	16. Chapter 16

Phil sits behind Cal's desk in the doctor's abandoned office. Everyone's gone—both his latest ragtag team of people and HYDRA—and he waits for Gonzales's people, probably Mack and Bobbi, to show. The air in the room is dust-filled and quiet. But his brain is drowned in the sound of Anna shouting at him.

He can almost picture her pacing the length of the room in front of the desk, a habit she has when she's anxious or pissed. "You left Leo with Ward?" he imagines her yelling. "Would you leave me with him? And what he did to me doesn't hold a candle to what he did to Leo. Phil, you put them in the air together. You do remember what happened the last time they were in the air together, right?"

"I know," he murmurs into the empty office. If there's some sort of surveillance system, he wonders what people will think of seeing him talk to himself. He's already gone crazy with carving this year; maybe they'll expect it. "But what other choice do I have?" he asks into the ether.

Anna doesn't respond—at least, not the one in his head. Maybe because she doesn't have an answer, or maybe because his subconscious doesn't want to hear what she would say. He tries not to dwell on that and instead runs through the bullet points of how he's going to pull this off. Except there aren't that many, because he's not sure it'll work. It's a big gamble, and Phil hates uncertainty.

It's been a year since HYDRA struck out from its shadows. It simultaneously feels like three weeks and ten years. He thinks of other anniversaries lingering in the near future.

He could leave, he thinks. Slip away between his people leaving and Gonzales's men inevitably arriving. He could abandon it all, find Anna, and flee. Rumor from Fitz was that the "Real S.H.I.E.L.D." was letting anyone who wanted to walk away to do so. He's not entirely sure that they'd let him disappear into the sunset, but he could try. He could leave, run away.

He could abandon everything and leave his life behind.

He could be happy.

Phil lingers in that daydream for a moment: playing househusband while Anna works her way back in with a symphony. They'd have a nice, quiet home. Maybe even a family.

But then, the edges start to fray. He realizes he'd be bored in matter of weeks with nothing to do. That it is unlikely they could put down roots anywhere. More than likely, someone would always be chasing Phil, and they'd either be on the run all the time or living in complete isolation. And then, they'd both be bored with nothing to do.

He could offer something in return to keep people off his back. He could pull a stunt like Natasha and dump all the cube's secrets out in the open for everyone to see. But people's lives would be put in danger. S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken enough from some people—agents, powered individuals, and more—that they don't deserve to have all their dirt and weaknesses aired in the open for anyone to read.

"You don't deserve this, either," Anna's voice sounds again. Phil pictures her standing in front of Cal's desk with her arms crossed. Her face is hard, but her eyes are soft and sad. A particular shade of gray that he associates with home.

"You don't deserve this either," he responds.

"What else do I have?" she asks.

Phil is terrified of acknowledging that question. It's one that constantly niggles at the back of his mind. He doesn't want to agree with Anna's notion that Phil is all she has left, that he's the only potential future she possesses. Because if he's all she has, he needs to do something about it. Make that future worthwhile.

The plan that he's been reviewing in his mind expands and unfolds. It grows from only existing in the present to weeks, months, and hopefully years into the future.

"You want to have a conversation about this first?" imaginary Anna asks. "It's my life, too, you know."

"All we ever do is talk," Phil tells her. "It's time to actually do something about it."


	17. Chapter 17

**NOTES: **Sorry for the lack of update last week. I couldn't find something that fit.

* * *

"Have you called your lady friend?" Hunter asks him.

Fitz rolls his eyes dramatically. "That makes Anna sound like an elderly lady of the night. And she is most certainly not either of those things."

"Well, she's not a girl either," Hunter argues. "What am I supposed to call her?"

When Phil does call Anna later—because Hunter is actually right about something and Phil should really get around to doing that—he's sure she'll poke fun at him for possibly taking relationship advice from a man who refers to his ex-wife as any number of villainous, mythical creatures and a lad who has yet to grow a pair and make out with a certain mechanic.

The three of them are sitting in Phil's office waiting for the mission to Afterlife to start. Coulson keeps most of his focus on the screen and on the icon representing the quinjet Gonzales is traveling. Gonzales, who appointed himself ambassador and gets to have opening talks with Skye's mother.

Skye's actual mother.

He doesn't want to admit how much it digs at him that the girl—woman, he reminds himself—has found her actual parents. He feels like he's been usurped, and he doesn't have the right to be mad about it because they're her actual parents. He's merely her boss. And even that is iffy based on the last conversation Phil had with her.

"Am I supposed to call her 'Coulson's lover? '" Hunter asks while Fitz pulls a face.

"I don't want to think about Coulson having sex," Fitz mutters.

"You two do realize that I'm still sitting here, right?" Phil replies.

"Hunter does have a point," Fitz says. "Last time the Avengers got together for a big fight, you were a little dead." He paused to shrug. "Might bring back some bad memories for her. You should call."

Hunter nods. "Gonzales won't reach the Inhuman camp for another thirteen minutes. Go phone home, E.T."

"You do realize that the two of you are in my office," Phil points out.

Hunter frowns. "Mate, I think you underestimate how comfy these chairs are."

"Get out," Phil orders. "Go find food and come back in ten." He hears Hunter mutter something about older people not needing as long for phone sex, but he doesn't challenge the agent on the matter . He takes a deep breath and then uses the phone on his desk to call Anna's cell. She picks up after the second ring, and a little bit of tension he didn't realize was settled between his shoulder blades loosens. "It's me," he greets.

"You okay?" she asks tightly.

"Fine," he answers. "I'm not there, just sitting in my office. I'm okay. Are you?"

"Yeah," she breathes. "Pepper took me with her to business trip in Tokyo, so we missed the robots attacking the Tower."

"I thought they were only in Eastern Europe," Phil says.

"Maybe your next call should be to Maria," Anna suggests.

Phil sighs and squints his eyes against a headache he can feel starting. He also takes a second to remind himself that Tony Stark is no longer his problem. Maria decided to fall on that particular sword, and Phil wants nothing to do with it. "If you're in Japan, then it's the middle of the night."

"You're calling me," she tells him. "I'm not going to send you to voicemail so I can get some more sleep."

He can't help the small smile that response causes. "Look," he says as he runs the fingers of his free hand along the edge of his desk. "I made a deal with some other S.H.I.E.L.D. people. It's going to change the hierarchy of things around here. Less responsibility for me and stuff ." He swallows before asking his next question. "Any chance you'd be willing to come back here? I know this isn't anywhere near the ideal lifestyle for you, but…"

"What happened?" Anna asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I can hear something lonely in your voice," she tells him. "What happened?" He stares at the giant screen and watches the quinjets' flight paths for a second before spilling the story of Skye not only meeting her father but also her mother. On top of that, she's no longer knows if she wants to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. or not. "And so, what, you want me to come back to you so we can have a kid to replace the one you're losing?" she questions, a hint of laughter in her voice at the ridiculousness of such a thought. He swallows and stays quiet. "Goddammit, Phil," she swears. "This isn't the kind of conversation that you have with someone on the phone when you're on opposite sides of the planet."

"I know," he says. "I just… This isn't entirely about Skye," he tells her in some weak form of defense.

"But she still has something to do with it?" Anna questions.

"I… I've just been thinking about it a lot," he answers. "Look, if you don't want to come here at all, that's okay. If you want to talk about this, great. If you never want me to bring it up again, I'll do that. Just…" His voice trails off, his mind no longer able to come up with words. If he has to swallow this dream again and shove down into the depths of his soul, it's okay. He's done it before, and he can do it again.

But if there's a chance. Well, he can't walk away from that.

Anna blows out a breath over the phone's receiver. "I'll try and get back there in the next few days."


	18. Chapter 18

**NOTES:** I'm going to be taking a couple of weeks to expand on the finale, since a lot of things happened in it. And then this story will probably move even deeper into AU territory. Hope you all don't mind. Thanks for reading.

* * *

He jerks awake with a scream on his lips. Someone beside starts shushing at him like he's a small child and running a damp, cool cloth across his forehead. "You're okay," Anna soothes quietly. "I'm here, Phil. It's okay. You're safe."

He takes deep breath and tries to lower his blood pressure and regain his mental faculties through a haze that has to be pain killer-induced. "Back at base?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse from either not being used or possibly screaming in his sleep. Maybe both.

"You got here this morning," Anna answers. "I beat you by a couple of hours. Do you remember what happened?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to recall how he got into a hospital bed this time. "Gordon," he grunts. "Mack, Fitz, and I were going after Gordon. He tried to drop a crystal at the last minute."

"And if it had shattered, it would have probably killed everyone on board," Anna finishes. "But you caught it and saved the day."

"Except it started turning my hand into rock," he says, the memories rushing back vividly and painfully as he remembers Mack and his axe. "What'd they do with my hand?"

"I don't know," Anna tells him as she reaches for a cup behind her. She holds it close to his mouth and aims the straw for his lips. "I asked Jemma about it, but everyone's a little busy at the moment." She brushes hair off of his sweaty forehead and gives him a small smile. "I know the watch was your Dad's. I'm trying to get it back."

"Thanks," he says, eyes drifting back shut again. He feels like shit. His body is on fire, and his left arm feels cramped. It's like his hand is clenched in the tightest fist possible, but since it's no longer attached he can't tell his brain to make it relax. "How long was I out?"

"This happened a few days ago. Jemma said you've been in and out of consciousness since then."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For saving everyone's lives?" Anna replies before scraping her nails along his scalp again. "You're still alive, Phil. And while one day in the future I'll make a joke about how I'm really glad you didn't lose your dominant hand for fun, adult times, I still have most of you . And I'll gladly take it."

He leans in to her touch, trying to focus on the little waves of pleasure her fingers cause. "How's everyone else? We lose anyone?"

"A few people on the helicarrier. At least, that's what I've heard from people walking by and talking in the hallway. Skye's stopped in, but she looks haunted as hell and won't talk to me about it. Bobbi has another surgery scheduled—"

"Surgery?" he asked, anxiety spiking. "What did Ward do?"

"Unfortunately, he didn't die," Anna answers bitterly. "Apparently, after torturing and beating her, he tied Bobbi to a chair and rigged a rifle to kill whoever came through the door to rescue her."

"Hunter?"

Anna nods. "That's what would've happened if Bobbi hadn't thrown herself in the line of fire. She almost bled out. Clint said he was glad it wasn't him going in to rescue her; he sounded pretty sure that she would've let him take a bullet to the head."

"Their story is complicated," Phil tells her.

"And one that I'm not going to ask about, because if Hunter sounds bitter, he's got nothing on Clint."

"'s complicated," he slurs, and belatedly realizes he's already said that once. "Meds?"

"Pain killers, mostly," Anna answers, thankfully able to understand his question. "Some antibiotics from the surgery where they cleaned up your arm and closed the wound. Go back to sleep, baby. I'm not going anywhere. You're okay."

"Sorry," he apologizes. She softly tells him that everything is okay, but it's not. He's come back to her before as a slightly less whole man than when he left, but this is pushing things. He wants to apologize for scaring her, for putting her through this, for his appearance, for not having a hand to put a wedding band on.

That last thought rattles around in his head a little louder than the others. They've had more discussions about why getting married would be a bad idea instead of why they should do it. But still, it would've been nice to have the option. The logical and still functioning part of his mind tells him that just because he's lost a hand doesn't mean he can't marry her, but he thinks of the times were he had to wear a ring for a mission. How he adjusted to its weight and presence easily, and how feeling the metal around his finger made him feel more peaceful even though it was only playing pretend. He falls asleep with another apology on his lips.


	19. Chapter 19

Phil fights a disgruntled sigh as Anna buttons up the front of his dress shirt and helps him with his tie. "You don't have to do this," he says. Again. Like every morning since she'd showed up at his side in the hospital.

"I know," she says in what is now an automatic response.

"You meeting with Andrew again today?" he asks.

Anna nods. "Want me to ask when he and May are going to replace your Scotch?"

He snorts. "Probably never going to happen. Do I get to know what you're talking about with him?"

She catches his eye with a challenging look. "Are you going to fess up about what your conversations with him are like?"

"Part of it is classified," he tells her.

"And the part that isn't?" she pushes while helping him with his sling. He stays quiet for a minute, and she gives him a sharp look. "Phil, you call me here with talks about wanting to start a family, and—"

"Now I'm just trying to keep the one I already have whole," he replies. He would love to have the conversation, would love even more to actually get started on things, but he usually doesn't get what he wants out of his personal life. It's the one itinerary he can't control at all, and while most days he's okay with that, sometimes it drives him insane.

"What do you know that I don't? Is it Skye?" Anna asks.

Phil steps away from her and busies himself with putting his cell in his pocket, straightening files, and anything else he can mess with using only one hand. "I think I know how to keep Skye. I've got something in the works that I can put her in charge of."

"Then who?"

"Hunter told me that Bobbi wants out, not that I'm supposed to know that."

"She's hurt, Phil," she reminds him. "Give her some time to heal."

"She's tired, Anna." We all are, he thinks. "She's been doing this for a long time, and it isn't smart for me to ask someone in my line of work to just power through and suck it up. She'll get hurt again, or someone else will. Bobbi doesn't handle guilt well."

"Is she the only one talking about leaving?"

"If I lose Bobbi, odds are I'll lose Hunter. Despite how much he insults her, he'll follow Bobbi around like the love-sick puppy he is until the end of time." A soft ding sounds and draws Phil's attention to the inbox on his screen. He waves his tablet in Anna's direction. "And then I just got a vacation request for May with no end date." A frown creases Anna's face, and Phil knows that it's a mere shadow of the emotion she's internally facing. "I've got to go." He kisses her cheek on the way out the door.

"I can bring you lunch," she calls after him, but he waves down her offer. He knows she's trying to be helpful, but he can actually do some things on his own.

* * *

Four hours later, May shows up in his office, bag already over her shoulder. "Andrew said he had to talk you into letting me go."

Phil shrugs. "Didn't take much convincing. Just jealous you get a vacation." A flash of guilt crosses her face as she ducks her head. "Melinda, take a break. It's fine."

"I haven't stopped, Phil. Not since you pulled me away from that desk."

Guilt swims in his stomach. "I know. I've asked you to do a lot more than just drive a bus in the last couple years. Go have fun. When you get back, we'll talk about how things are being run." That comment piques her interest enough to cause an eyebrow to arch. "We'll talk about it when you get back," he repeats . "You have people to call if you get into trouble? I mean, clearly you can call us, but we're a little short-staffed at the moment."

May nods. "I've got contacts."

"Okay," Phil responds. "Come back when you're ready."

She stares at him for a moment, her gaze settling on his sling. "We'll break out the mats when I get back. Help beat you back into shape."

"I'll start stocking up on Icy-Hot now," he tells her with a smile. She returns the grin, nods, and leaves. "You still owe me Scotch," he calls after her.

He spends a minute absorbing the silence in his office, knowing it won't last long. Sure enough, there's a knock at his door, and a second later Skye lets herself in. "Funny thing—I just saw May walk out with her ex. She had a bag over her shoulder."

"She's going on leave."

Skye's mouth drops open. "She's leaving? I thought she was going to keep training me. Am I going to need a new SO?"

"No. She'll remain your SO, but I've got a new project for you. We'll talk about it tomorrow. You up for a road trip?"

"Do I get to drive Lola?" she asks excitedly. "I mean, I know some people are scared to talk about your lack of a hand, but driving a stick requires all your appendages, so…"

"Fine," he sighs. "But one scratch—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You need anything else? Because I have to brag about this to Mack." He waves her away, and she spins on her heel—only to complete the circle with her body and face him once more. "By the way, I tried to drag Anna out of your quarters for lunch, but she wasn't having it."

Phil fights off a sigh and immediately starts running through ways he can make it up to Anna once he figures out what exactly he's done wrong this time. "Was she busy playing her cello?"

"Cleaning," Skye replies.

"Great," he mutters. He knows that's one of her coping habits. When life isn't showing her progress with things, she cleans her surroundings just so she can see some kind of improvement.

"You gonna fix that or wuss out in your office for a little bit longer?" she questioned.

"How long do I get to hide in here before you drag me out and make go face her?"

"Thirty minutes."

Phil nods. "Start your clock."


	20. Chapter 20

Phil stares at the ceiling in the dark, wishing it had some pattern to it so that he could distract his insomnia-ridden brain with a memorization exercise. Next to him, Anna rolls over, reaches across his chest, and turns on the bedside lamp. "Talk," she orders.

"You're still awake?"

"Have you heard me snoring?"

"Fair point. Sorry," he says.

"Don't apologize, just tell me what's going on so we can both get some sleep," she says as she sits up in bed.

He mimics her, and they both end up sitting with their backs along the headboard of the bed. "I want a vacation," he admits.

"So take one."

"Can't," he replies. "May's gone. That would leave Bobbi as the most senior agent, and she's scheduled for another surgery in a few hours. I'll trust Hunter as an agent, but I'm not putting him in charge of anything. Still not fully trusting Mack, and not just because of the hand thing. Skye, Fitz, and Simmons are all too junior."

"So give everyone a vacation," Anna suggests. "Let everyone have leave and meet back in a month. If the world tries to go to hell, let Tony or another agency deal with it."

"Maybe," Phil says, his fingers flexing as he fights the urge to grab his tablet and run a threat analysis again. He's had Anna's thought before, but sending everyone in different directions might just amplify his worry. At least while everyone is in one building, he can keep them all safe. Theoretically.

"Why else can't you sleep?" Anna asks.

Phil smiles. "You taking over for Andrew since he left, too?"

Anna shrugs. "He and I may have had had a discussion or twenty on the joys of being in a relationship with a super-secret super spy, and the lack of conversations within said relationship."

Phil rolls his lips. He's used to playing things close to the vest; it's a means of protection. But it's also a bad habit. "I took Skye to see her father today."

"Didn't you wipe his memory?" Anna asks.

Phil nods. "Same memory erasure they did on me after I died."

"He's not going to start carving stuff in walls, is he?"

"No," Phil answers. "At least, we're pretty sure he won't. He's being monitored just in case, but— I've spent the last two years deluding myself into thinking that I could fulfill the place of a father in her life . But watching her interact with Cal… I was wrong. Even though he can't remember her, she remembers him. And even though they didn't have a lot of time together, it was enough."

Anna reaches over to twine her fingers in his. "Just because you can't be her father doesn't mean you can't be anything at all to her. You know she looks up to you and respects you."

"Yeah, I just—" He pauses to sigh. He knows the words he needs to say, but they feel like they're in a giant knot glued to the inside of his throat. "When I came back from the dead, even back when I believed I was gone for only a handful of seconds, I started making a list in my head. It wasn't anything I did intentionally, it just happened."

"What kind of list?" Anna asks.

"The kind where I realized all the things I didn't do and regret not doing," he admits before looking over at her. "A number of things on the list involve you. And despite getting a second chance at accomplishing stuff, I'm still pretty awful and crossing items off my list."

Anna runs her free hand through her mess of brown curls. "Phil, it's one in the morning. If this is your version of proposing—"

"No," he says quickly. "I know you aren't sure marriage is your thing anymore, and that's fine. And it's okay if you change your mind on that, too. It doesn't matter to me."

"Kids," Anna surmises.

"Yeah," he says softly. "First, it was all the feelings about meeting Skye and taking her in. Then we wind up in the town where I was born and I was back on my dad's football field. All the memories about him came rushing back." He lets go of her hand and absentmindedly rubs his hand over the scar on his chest. His stomach is trying to tie itself into a jumbled mess, and all of the sudden his skin feels hot from nerves. "I thought I'd pushed all down, tucked it all away. And maybe before New York I had, but not now. Anna, I know this is asking a lot of you, but you're the only person I'd want to do this with."

Anna licks her lips and focuses for a second on her hands. "What about your job?"

"I think Gonzales had something going for him with this council thing. It's too much for one person to be in charge of everything, both with the toll it takes and the power they have. A system of checks and balances is a good thing. And having that in place can take some stress off of me, but that's where the second part of my plan fell apart."

"How's that?" Anna asks.

"I was going to start transitioning Melinda into my position, faze myself out. But if she doesn't come back… Anyway, that's it. That's my talk."

The room is silent for a couple of minutes, and Phil swears he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. "I have conditions," Anna says finally.

"Such as?"

"We're both old—some more than others. I'm not necessarily fond of the idea of giving birth in my forties, which means if we do this the old-fashioned way, you've got three months to knock me up."

Phil tries to hide his smile at that. "What else?"

Anna sighs. "I'm not sure we should do it the old-fashioned way. The condition my son had could be genetic, and I'm not going through that again. I know it's expensive and budgets are tight, but—"

"I'll make it happen," Phil reassures her.

Anna's eyebrows rise. "Legally, though, right? Because you just talked about having all this power—"

"Legally," he swears. "What else?"

Before she can respond, there's a loud banging on the entry to his quarters. "Coulson!" Fitz shouts. Anna and Phil shoot out of bed. She helps him pull on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before wrapping herself up in a silk robe. Fitz continues to shout his name and beat on the door. Phil yanks it open and the scientist breathlessly reports, "Jemma's gone."


	21. Chapter 21

Phil runs down the corridor, trailing Fitz. The young man had refused to give any details until they went to the place where Jemma disappeared. Phil isn't even sure at the moment where that is as he follows the scientist. As the make their way through their base, places are crossed off Phil's list of possibilities. And when they head toward a section of the sub-basement, his stomach starts to drop.

Sure enough, Fitz yanks open the door that leads to the big rock from Gonzales's helicarrier that they know nothing about. Mack stands next to the case containing the object, tablet in hand. He's almost glaring at the device in his determination to pull something from it.

"Report," Phil orders.

"We're still trying to figure out what happened," Mack says while turning the tablet's screen toward Phil.

A security feed begins to play and shows Jemma running some sort of test on the rock. As she turns to leave, the case opens and the rock… melts. It splashes out of the container like a wave, engulfs Jemma, and then slides back, returning to its original form. There's no trace of Jemma anywhere; she appears to have been absorbed inside the large stone. Phil tries to form a question, but his mouth just hangs open. He turns his attention back to the rock and studies it for a minute. Someone, more than likely Mack, has secured the container once more and reinforced the enclosure. The black monolith remains still and solid, as if mocking Phil's brain, which expects any second now for the rock to dissolve and wash around the inside of the clear box.

"It's my fault," Fitz said softly, guilt heavy in his tone.

"Turbo," Mack replies gently. "We've been over this."

"I knocked it open, Mack," Fitz argues.

"Fill me in on what you're talking about," Phil asks.

Fitz sighs and runs a shaky hand through his curly hair. "Earlier this evening—well, late afternoon I guess—I was in here with Simmons. I was telling her about my plans for tonight, and I leaned against the case. I knocked it open. I let it out."

Mack shakes his head. "You shouldn't have been able to do that. This thing was sealed tight when I left this afternoon. Didn't you say that Simmons was in here working by herself?" Mack asks, and Fitz nods. "She said she wanted to drop probes down into the box. She must have opened herself before you came in here, just closed it without locking it when you walked in, and it was loose still."

"But then why didn't it suck her up then?" Fitz questions. "Why did it wait?"

"You're attaching sentience to a rock," Phil warns. "Let's take things one step at a time. Mack, are you getting any readings of her?"

The engineer shakes his head. "Can't pick up a heat signature or anything else, but the rock is pretty damn impenetrable. And even you ordered me to, sir, no way I'm opening that case up again."

"Probably for the best right now," Phil concedes, despite Fitz's small, helpless sound. He takes the tablet from Mack's hand. "Fitz, set up a passive scan that will monitor the situation. I don't want to set anything off again."

"Yes, sir," the scientist answers as he moves to the nearest computer and starts writing a protocol. "Simmons's probes have been running this whole time. The computer is analyzing the data we have."

"How long will that take?" Phil asks.

Fitz studies the screen a moment before saying, "Four hours minimum."

Phil nods. "We'll meet back here at six in the morning. Full team meeting. Until then, get some rest. Have a feeling we won't sleep much once we get the data back."

"Sir—" Fitz tries to argue, but Mack walks up and loosely wraps a hand around the other man's upper arm.

"We can't do anything right now," he tells Fitz. "Let's get some rest, and we'll come back to it with fresh eyes in a little bit."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," Fitz warns even though he lets Mack tug him towards the quarters section of the base.

"None of us will," Phil mutters as he leaves and heads towards his own living space, separated from the rest of the crew. When he walks in the door, he smells coffee. Anna gives him a small smile, an attempt to hide her worry, and hands him a mug. "I just gave everyone orders to sleep," he says.

"Oh, I can—"

Phil grabs the mug from her hand and gulps down two large swallows. She's left out cream, a sign she knows he'll have to work tonight. His heart twists at how well she knows him and his life. He still hates that he's dragging her down into this with him, but he can't imagine trying to survive all of this without her beside him.

"What happened?" she asks as she takes a sip from her own mug.

"Jemma's missing." He describes the video of her being sucked in by the now-solid stone. "Fitz is running some scans. We'll start in on it once the computer is done crunching data." He sits on the couch, and she joins him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. They sit quietly as Phil skims through the report Mack typed on the tablet. "They had a date," he says.

"Hmmm?" Anna hums.

"Fitz and Mack. It says they left to go to a restaurant for dinner."

"'Bout time," Anna comments sleepily. Phil puts his tablet down on the coffee table next to his mug, pulls her coffee cup from her hand before she spills it on herself, and sets it down next to his. He then maneuvers their bodies so they're stretched out on the couch. "I can stay up with you," she murmurs into his chest.

"I know you can," he tells her before kissing the top of her head. "But one of us should sleep right now."

He listens to her breath even out and feels jealousy that she can rest right now. His mind races as it comes up with contingency plans and weighs the merits of calling either May or Maria, or maybe even both of them. He can't do this alone, if for no other reason than his crew is disappearing on him. He's going to have to call in some assistance, and his stomach knots as he worries that might be more trouble than help.


	22. Chapter 22

Phil can't help but sigh as he flops onto the bed. He tries to keep his movements as still as possible, but he's too tired to stop himself from collapsing on the mattress. He reminds himself for the billionth time to track down whoever scored him a pillow top and kiss them. Hard.

Anna's fingers snake across the bed, and he rests his good—only—hand on top of hers. "The Avengers say hi," he says softly into the dark.

"That's nice," she mumbles, still mostly asleep.

He waits and listens as her breathing predictably evens back out. She only sleeps deeply when he's in bed with her. It's something that amuses Phil and makes him feel immensely guilty. There are a lot of things he feels guilty about these days.

It's been two weeks since Jemma disappeared into the rock. Despite constant surveillance and testing the team—Fitz, really—has no idea what or if there is anything to do, other than walk around like a heartbroken puppy all the time. Hence Phil's trip to the new Avengers training facility. There, he'd met with Stark and Jane Foster and let them analyze all the data Fitz had collected. After pouring over it for three days, the two scientists had come to the same conclusion as Fitz—they had no idea what had happened, they didn't know where Simmons was, and all they could see from the readouts was a solid rock.

While visiting his old team, Phil and Natasha had caught each other up on their two-sided war on HYDRA. "We think we have things under control now," she'd told him.

Phil had given her a dubious look. "You should know better than that."

Phil knows that together they've taken out most of the known fronts and leaders in the enemy organization, but the old phrase about two heads growing back won't leave him alone. They've lost tabs on Ward, and Phil can't help but wonder if his former team member would run back to old friends in order to lick his wounds and grab some new power.

The other task for meeting up with the Avengers was to update them on the Inhuman front. He'd been able to pull Maximoff aside and let her know about Skye—now starting to call herself Daisy—and her new group of agents, but the young woman turned down the offer to join. She hadn't gotten her powers from a crystal, was getting used to her new team, and wanted to keep an eye on Stark. Phil couldn't blame her for that last one.

When Phil had asked Natasha if Stark's attempt at artificial intelligence was going to come back and haunt them all, that's when he'd been introduced to Vision. It was disturbing to hear JARVIS's voice come out of a living being, or whatever term was politically correct for whatever he—if he was a he—was.

"It is good to see you in person, Director Coulson," Vision had greeted. "My predecessor fondly recalls the sound of Miss Ellis playing her cello. Is she still keeping up with her music?"

Someone so polite, but with a gem in his forehead that could destroy pretty much anything in existence. No wonder he was worthy enough to lift Thor's hammer.

Natasha had filled him in on Vision's creation thanks to the help of Doctor Cho, and the wheels had starting churning in his mind. On the flight back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Phil had left a voicemail on the good doctor's phone. "I hear you're busy making repairs, but if I could call in that favor you owe me from five years back, I'd really appreciate it."

Phil is almost asleep when his cell phone begins to vibrate in the suit paints he's still wearing. He extracts himself from Anna's hold and slips into the main living area to answer the phone. "I apologize if I woke you up," Doctor Cho greets, "but I wasn't sure which time zone you're in. Also, it's not that often I receive calls from the dead."

"Not as dead as I used to be," Phil responds. "How's your headquarters?"

"Thankfully, most of our important facilities are underground and remain untouched. Everything should be recovered and rebuilt within six months."

"Good to hear."

"What's this about calling in a favor? Because after you saved my facility and all my research from being overrun and stolen from under me five years ago, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, Agent Coulson."

"It's actually Director now," he corrects gently. He pauses, the words trying to stick in his throat. Quickly, he looks over his shoulder toward the bedroom and hopes Anna doesn't kill him for making this request without discussing it with her first. "What do you know about in vitro fertilization?"

"That it's child's play," Cho answers simply. "Why?"

"What if one parent has a medical history involving fatal fetal heart malformations, and the other has some alien DNA that may need picked out before fertilization?"

The line remains silent for a few seconds. "Alien DNA?"

"It's what was used to bring me back from the dead, and before you ask—no, I don't have any more of it," Phil responds.

"What if I'm able to extract it?" Cho asks. "Would you be alright with me working with it?"

No, he thinks. Even if it has wondrous medical advantages, it's too much of a risk. "I'd rather you not. Besides, my biochemist couldn't extract it from my system, so I'm not sure anyone could."

"May I ask who my patients would be?"

"My… partner and I," Phil answers. She's not his wife, and he feels weird saying girlfriend even if Anna doesn't mind. But the word choice brings forth a small, surprised gasp of air from the doctor.

"You didn't mention both parents would be male. I've wondered about doing a project like this, but haven't pursued it."

"He is a she, sorry to disappoint."

"Oh," Cho replies, sounding slightly deflated. "Agent Romanoff had intimated that you and Agent Barton—"

"Were never a thing, despite popular gossip," he responds while making a mental note to send a message to Natasha for stirring the pot for her own amusement again. "But are you still interested?" he asks.

"I owe you, Ag—Director. Come see me when you can, and I'll see what I can do."

When he disconnects, he feels arms wrap around his waist. "You sleep at all?" Anna asks while placing a kiss between his shoulders.

"A little," he tells her.

"Didn't bother changing?" she questions while walking around him to face him.

He gives her a small smile. "Haven't used my steamer in a while. Wanted to make sure it still works."

"How was the trip?"

"Everyone says hi," he repeats. "Met the new JARVIS. Or his son. Still not really sure how that works, but I do have a question for you." Her eyebrows rise as she waits for him to fill her in. "Ever been to South Korea?"


End file.
